


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


jitjrigW ‘F)d 

• ' A/ : P K 


nSil’El) STATES OF AMERICA. 


'w^wii^rWiV, 






V • 















/ 


SATCHEL 


SERIES. >V 




PRICE 30 CENTS. 


V 



NOBODY’S BUSINESS. 





JEANNETTE; HADEKMAN 

'<N-- 


n] oXu/TiUtlu 


AUTHOR or “ DEAD MEN’S SHOES,” ” HEAVT YOKES,” ” AGAINST THE ’VTORLD,” ETa 


\ 



NETT' YORK: 

THE AUTHOES’ PUBLISHINa COMPANY, 

BOND STISEBT. 


<!r 






V 


‘ '4 1£ 


J '4 





W , ' ■'. 




'i&^' - ■■ - ■• ■>■1 

.f, > ■ . . . , V ',...■ ■ ' , . ‘ • . »■• . -^<',V»‘ 


•t. i 


N* v^ 

'¥ ^ 

1 \ ^''' 


\ W 







♦I •' ‘1 

>t • 

' • 

1 


m-y.\ 


t. 


<•* 

Bja 


p: f 

. ■ ijk C* > • ,»-.'Vi * , , 


‘ > 

1 V<.^ 


> 

4 ’• 


■ • 

’ jV'A’ 

•'i 


ov 


. I 

. I I 




i 

.- r 


k t'i • 


•>^ t 


■ 1*^.^ 


. 


, I 


1 ' 


.iy 


.r/'N ;.’ 

•: /■ 

i 


»■ ^ V* ^ 


ir / 




1 




/v 'V?i .'*.' •' 


S- ' '' ^ 

■' ' ' *' 


, V . * .,’ 

>. 




v‘^ ' 






>4 •• 


.!n 


'*s. 


» Vi 




■' ,/ ■ J ’^Vtflly i' '■'.. 


ijI -. 4*1 /.• i 


>•‘.4 ■• -iS. 


k^, W .' . . . ly| - . 4 I »,• » , ■ 

. '■ ' 1^4 1 » ► *' • 


‘4 ^ 



» I 




• / 


\t^' 


\ 






•? 

‘ 41 i 


• *» 


/. 

« 








<,» i' *1 


' ' " U ^ ' '• / ■ ■!' y ' - ■, 

llS^» 







TO MT BROTHER J. M., 

OP TENSAS PARISH, 

■WITHOUT "WHOSE HINDLY ASSISTANCE THIS LITTLE BOOK IUGHT HAVE 

PROVEN INDEED 

NOBODY’S BUSINESS, 

IT IS QEATEPULLT DEDICATED BY 


THE ATJTEOIi 



j<'' 

Mr 

_ , ■ ■ -Vili 

'J'f'M'yM.' 

i 


¥y 4 r. -^K . .. 
y w ' •' ■ 
?*?ra^v/.v •’fi 





♦ ■■ ,• i'' 


!V 


' y IT 


t 


♦ ■ i' j, ^ K I 

{i 

*’- .'> ■ '\, ■ \ . ™ 


* f ' , ' . . I ' 1 1 i ' 1 • ■.' ' • ' * •’ I ' ' '* 



A 



ii»j . 





•-v^i-^r; 

j • ' ». I , 

ll'- •' ' ' 

W: 


?« 




'■■ ■■ ,1. ’ .: . 

7 iT' •. i" ii ’ 


t^i'/'vV I*'''' '■(- ’^, yt.'i '.•_’ 





!!► ^ 


-.* r 


’M ,v 

i 





V • 4 


: ■»' vi ■ ■■ 

iV ' *■ '■ '• •*-'- ‘/ 


V 


»'t 

1/ 


i 1 


•» > ■ / ■ * * ■*’V 

I 


' * ' 




Wr 


l('?^' "*'*«<;/ Ciirr-JT" x 

^i!v;.-f, v.i':.r v';'„ .! 


ifl^'--."' 

^ » I 




'.Jr.'>-. 

Ijy: •; ? ■' < 




•■i-v •. ' ■■ ■> 

. , • .' '"T' ^ ;<: 

.j:K',"- '♦ ;•< 

^ ' ' t 1 ■<', y , 

>n . , ^ 

, • '■ ' ‘- ’i‘'‘ ' 


.'' 'f 


• r 


I i * 


' M ■'/ , •(. ’■ , 

y' . 0yy ■ 


I , , <\> ;■' t ■ .f,/' 

■ ■ ‘ ''' • >'■ ‘V/IP*' * 

.'■.bv.t‘5^1 . • 

■'■> ,■ " - 


f 


.'•I* 


■ < ^ « 

’l , 


i's * 


•i.'if), > • „*y’. * ’jvV> -iv 










• ^ / ' 


I 


.St 


f 



•/r ■■ 






PEEFAOE. 


A TRTJTHFUTi narrative of liow Jack and I “pnllod through ” a 
sea of difficulties, in siDite of friendly predictions to the contrary ; 
telling why we did not “ go under ” in accordance with like 
friendly prophesies, with a succinct relation of the trials and 
tribulations thereupon attendant ; wnit with the desire to point 
a moral rather than adorn a tale — failing both if it do but serve 
to 

“ Tickle tbe public and make it grin,” 
it wiU not have been written all in vain. 


/ 


f.'!: 



; ,• .' svy .; 

WEa' ^ '*1. 'fl 1 


|#^5Sfe ■ #3 

96efmf9^^ v»} I, ;\. • »•■•.• /-■; •' ■ »'■ ■{.’;■ ' u*' ♦..’* 


1^1' S‘ 




> > 

»• 


s L •> ; 


vt V, 


^ . 

I «' 


^ ^ • • *•' I 

’ ).'»? 


'■;«■*.<:■ '■; }*4>< -■ 





tft\ 


I 


• ^.:J 



- V . 

. . \ 


l. ' 


..A 

i i » 




. '^-'V * ■ vA . '.,. ^ :'. ’ ‘/f ' . 
^ 4 *v < mIlT^ rt ^ \jS -( , W f 

mb. ., ‘ . : ' 

' • , . • ',kv.- '.:> i: 


*7 X 




f . •. • ir / 

/ ' ' f * 

r* • * » I 



■X .t I 




jjl 








I ' 


> i u . 'li’fw k** ». i ^ \ I ' I ' 


vvBg^r 




h^: * 








C.'i 


’i£. 


‘j ' 




» » 

I 


■.. . / r ^ 


>A‘'M 


*mS‘. ,. 


i 



y*.- * 






■'■ >-^-1^.: ;„.?)!,' ■>■'■. . 

4" 'i VA' ■ '- . ■ * 

HUlnSKL.^^’<‘ r#®KjCrrA ^ . Bm/ . ■ ' •.> V®.?)t>4r' J a»- '.- 




>,.; tr: x' iiit^ 




t 

' '\f- 

s 

y ^ * 

tp. “ 




• 

• 

• 1 

• 

J 



W^' 




<' * . 
iV.t 1 


n 










Bif ■•> ' y • V^IT’ 

W. > - .. ■ ' ■'.■I 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 1. PAGE. 

Old Gloves akd New Ideas 9 

CHAPTER n. 

My Idea 17 

CHAPTER ni. 

Resolved — ^Firstly ” 25 

CHAPTER lY. 

Plesham’s 34 

CHAPTER V. 

Explakatioks that Doh’t Explaik 41 

CHAPTER VI. 

Mrs. Bluxoh 63 

CHAPTER VII. 

War op the Roses 62 

CHAPTER Vin. 

So Did I” 73 

CHAPTER IX. 

“A Dog!” a Dihihg, ahd a Disaster 78 

CHAPTER X. 

How SooH We are Forgot 89 

( 7 ) 


8 


CONTmTS. 


CHAPTEE XL page. 

IimsiBLE Crosses 99 

CHAPTEE XII. 

Our Comedy oe Errors 108 

CHAPTEE Xin. 

CASTLt^a Out Deyils 116 

CHAPTEE XIV. 

Sacred Crocodiles 124 


NOBODY’S BUSINESS. 


CHAPTER I. 

OLD GLOVES AND NEW IDEAS. 

Madge, I tell you we must economize ! Unless some- 
thing now entirely unforeseen turns up, and that very 
suddenly, I’ll never pull through on earth. We’re 
bound to go under ! ” 

I folded across my lap, as an outward and visible 
sign of. inward and spiritual resignation, two small, 
brown, shabby kid gloves, whose finger-tips (exact re- 
productions in kid of bursted muscadine skins in nature) 
had a moment before been pointed at John with a sug- 
gestive hint that a new pair would not involve me in an 
embarrass de riches. 

It was by no means the first time, nor had I any idea 
it was to be the last time that I was expected to quail 
before the awful prospect of not pulling through, or of 
going under. 


( 9 ) 


10 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


Had we not left the dear old plantation because we 
kept going under (water) every year ? Had we not come 
to the city — the great, big, busy, rich city, where were 
work and bread for all — strong in the resolution that we 
would pull through, and that we would not go under ? 
Yet here was Jack, our only man-stay and prop, plant- 
ing his brawny elbows despairingly on the supper table, 
twisting his great strong fingers in and out his shaggy 
brown curls, glaring at me with tragic misery in his big 
gray eyes, and trying to scare me into the belief that if I 
persisted in my reckless demand for a pair of new gloves 
we must go under ! Shocking ! 

John,” I say solemnly, ‘^we will economize; you 
shan't go under.” 

And, with the fires of a noble resolve burning in my 
soul, I turned me about to see if my work-basket would 
yield up any sewing silk sufficiently brown and rusty to 
bring those divorced finger tips once more into loving 
proximity. 

^ Smy’s’ opinion is that economy is of two genders — 
masculine and feminine. To do without anything new, 
to make everything old last twice as long as it is in the 
nature of things perishable to last, to tremble in secret 
at the gradual shrinkage of the flour in the barrel, to 


OLD QLOYEB AND NEW IDEAS. 


11 


look at pretty tilings and content one’s self with ngly ones, 
is what is called feminine economy, or economy positive. 
To save when one can without looking mean, to spend 
fifty dollars on the chance of making a hundred, to keep 
the women folks at home well in check (not checks, 
please' observe), to do as other fellows do in the matter 
of exchanging treats, etc., is what is called masculine 
economy, or economy speculative. Which sort shall we 
practice in order to puli through and not go under ? ” 
The levity of your remarks, ^ Smy,’ shows liow poorly 
you realize the perils of our position,” says J ack, turning 
his tragic regards from a certain magnetic grease spot on 
the table-cloth upon Smy,” a small bit of concentrated 
wisdom and brightness, and goodness, who was his sister 
by birth, and mine by heart adoption, as well as by mar- 
riage — a sort of resident sunbeam that shed light in our 
dark places — a species of moral ballast that served to 
maintain the equilibrium of the somewhat shaky little 
bark that Jack and I had launched in partnership upon 
a sea not always the smoothest — the leaven to our heavi- 
ness, our comforter, our indispensable. 

Permit me to explain that Smy ” was not her name, 
but a ridiculous nickname that had been tacked on to 
ber from ber extremely rapid rendering of a certain sen- 


12 


irOBOD Y^S B USmBSS. 


tentious little ''it’s my opinion” with which she prefaced 
the ever-recurring homilies, warnings, bits of advisory 
wisdom, wholesome suggestions, etc., etc., with which she 
found it necessary to pelt Jack and me very often. 

People who were not near enough of kin to be imper- 
tinent, or who did not love her well enough to make fun 
of her, knew her as Miss Eleanor Walton. Jack was 
Mr. John Walton, and I was (in fact am, and hope to 
be for a thousand years to come) Margaret Walton. At 
home we are J ack and Smy and Madge. 

We called Smy our "great unterrified” in those dark 
days. She snapped her small fingers defiantly at Fate 
when that mythical personage wore her blackest frown, 
laughed poverty to scorn when poverty was pinching her 
sorest, and turned up that pug nose of hers with con- 
tempt whenever Jack talked in that way about going 
under. 

"Jack,” she said, with a sniff of scorn, "I think any 
man with the weight of only twenty- six years to carry, 
with long, strong legs like those, with a big brawny fist 
like that (rapidly indicating Jack’s physical qualifica- 
tions with a tiny bit of a forefinger), with a head on his 
shoulders like — ” 

" Those ! ” Jack snapped. 


OLD GLOVES AND NEW IDEAS, 


13 


That, and with presumptive brains hid away some- 
where under those shaggy curls, who could even talk of 
going under is fit for nothing better than to die of a rose- 
leaf in aromatic pain. That’s my opinion.” 

I think if it hadn’t been for Smy I should have gone 
under myself very often at first, while I was learning 
John, you know. There was such a waste of tragedy 
about him, and I always was so susceptible to the tragic 
in real life or on the stage. And really, as Jack sat 
there by the little table, with nothing left on it but the 
table-cloth (for feminine notions of economy had im- 
pelled Smy and me to slip the tea things away, wash 
them up, and put out the pantry lamp), his eyes filled 
with gloom and meditation, still fixed on the grease spot 
that somehow or other seemed to fascinate or comfort 
him, his long fingers tugging at his hair, trying, maybe, 
to find out if, as in Samson’s case, the secret of his 
strength lay therein, his eyes occasionally wandering 
from the grease spot to Smy, from Smy to me, always 
back to the spot with a restful intensity, I could not help 
wondering where Edwin Booth’s chance of starship would 
have been had Jack chosen to go on the stage. 

Women are single ideaed folk, and I had not been Mrs. 
John long enough even yet to place their true stagey 


14 


ITOBODY'S BUSINESS, 


valuation on Mr. John’s heroics. Therein was Smy my 
safeguard and my rock of defence. 

The first time Jack told me that unless somethiner 
turned up we must go under I felt a thrill of abso- 
lute terror. I wasn’t quite clear as to what we would go 
under, if that improbable something did not turn up ; but 
I loved Jack, and I did not want him to go under any- 
thing. It accorded much better with my wifely concep- 
tion of his abilities that he should go over everything 
and anything ; vaulting ambition, you know, and all 
that sort of thing. I preferred regarding the world as a 
ladder of ascent rather than descent for that dear old 
precious moody thing, who was at once so brave and so 
cowardly — such a man and such a baby. 

Nor had I yet quite acquired Smy’s dauntless ability, 
to laugh at the prospect of going under. So I fell to 
musing over the possibility of cutting down expenses 
yet a little lower. John’s credit should be saved, if I 
wore sack-cloth, and no gloves. A fresh flower twined 
in by my own hands, must decoy folks, in considering 
my old winter hat a new spring one. I would do all 
my visiting and church going on warm spring days, for 
neither philosophy nor religion were mine in that sus- 


OLD GLOVES AND NEW IDEAS. 15 

taining degree wliicli would enable me to brave a well 
dressed crowd in that old gray sbawl. 

Presently J ack left the table, stretched his long legs 
and arms tentatively, seemed satisfied that they were 
equal to another walk down town, took his hat from the 
peg, saying, Well, girls, sitting here moping is a poor 
way to mend matters. I’ve been in this deuced town 
two months now, and found nothing to do. But as I 
do not suppose comniercially, socially or politically, the 
demands for my services are sufficiently great to induce 
employment to hunt me up, I shall hunt it up. Don’t 
sit up for me.” 

Where are you going, J ohn ? ” I asked nervously. 

‘^To the devil, my dear,” Jack answered sardonic- 
ally. 

Ultimately, perhaps,” says Smy, serenely ; “but on 
the present occasion ? ” 

“ I really can’t say.” 

“ What to do, Jack ? ” 

“ That nut’s harder to crack than t’other one,” with 
which Jack dissappeared through the front door, leaving 
Smy and me to discuss the situation without manly 
advice or interference. 

“ Smy,” I say presently, trying on my mended gloves, 


16 


NOBODY^ 8 BUSINESS, 


to note the effect of purple sewing silk on brown kid, I 
have an idea ! ” 

’Smy opinion,” said my sister-in-law contemptuous- 
ly, that the trouble with us now is a surplus of ideas — 
old musty, fusty, rusty ideas, moth-eaten ideas about 
our position in society, about what is respectable and 
what isn’t, what’s proper for us to do, and improper for 
us to leave undone. We’re hampered to death now with 
inherited ideas — ” 

But, Smy,” I interrupted impatiently (despairing of 
her breath, or her eloquence, ever being exhausted) my 
idea is neither musty, fusty, nor rusty. It shines with 
the brilliancy of its own newness ! It hurls defiance at 
our position in society. It will barely pass muster as a 
respectable idea ! I’m quite sure it will suggest things 
not considered proper for us to do, nor improper for us 
to leave undone. So far from being a hampering idea, 
it tends towards the enfranchisement of our energies, 
our wills, and our muscles. It’s a regular woman’s 
rights idea — a brand new idea — and exclusively my own 
idea, inherited from nobody, which, if I were possessed 
of a grain of your prudent forethought I should certain- 
ly get out a patent for before even giving you the ben- 
efit of its wisdom ! ” 


MY IDEA. 


17 


^‘Good ! ” said Smy, visibly delighted. your idea’s 
a new one, and you^re quite sure it’s an improper one, 
and you didn’t inherit it from your great-grandmother, 
I’m ready to listen to it.” 


CHAPTER IL 

MY IDEA. 

Hot wishing to dazzle my ^sister-in-law too abruptly 
with the unique splendor of my idea, I considered a 
gradual ascent to its glittering heights advisable, by 
means of a few pertinent interrogatories — mental step- 
ping stones, you perceive — so I began with : “ Smy, 
do you remember that day at aunt Drew’s Christmas 
dinner, how we startled our kinsfolk, en masse, by tell- 
ing them of our resolution to let that man have tho 
plantation three years for putting a levee around it ” 
And repairs generally, as per contract,” Smy hastily 
interpolates (she has a wonderful turn for business). 

And how we had resolved to go to Hew Orleans and 
make our own living in the meantime ? ” 

Do I remember that day ? ” Smy echoes impressive- 
ly. Can I ever forget that day ? ” 


18 


irOBODY^S BUSINESS. 


^^How they jeered ! ” said L 
And sneered ! ” said she. 

And laughed ! ” 

And chaffed ! ” 

“ And called us three innocents abroad ! ” 

And three geese, which was a double-barrelled shot 
at Jack. ” 

And, ^ three prodigals ’ — ■” 

Who shouldn’t have even an unfatted calf on that 
inevitable occasion, when we should all creep back to the 
bosom of our family, sorrowful, repentant — ” 

Kagged and hungry — •’’ 

Singing in sad chorus the appropriate melody of 

Give a Poor dog a Bone ? ” 

Exactly ! ” said Smy, somewhat irrelevantly. 

Can you remember a single expression of sympathy 
or encouragement offered us on that occasion ? ” 

Not one.” 

And do you remember what we said, Smy ? ” 
Verbatim et liter atum ? ” 

don’t remember that any of us said that.” (Smy 
went to a better school than I did.) 

My sister-in-law’s laugh was the best part of her, 
good as the whole of her was. She here laughed one of 


MY IDEA. 


19 


her ringing, merry, good humored laughs, with just 
enough derision in it to inform me I had made a goose 
of myself, and said, “ Groosey ! word for word ? No, 
Because, you know, grandma Walton, and uncle Phil, 
and aunt Drew, to say nothing of a score or two of 
cousins, were all persuading, dissuading, conjuring and 
abusing us at one time. But I do remember how Jack 
got on his feet, in the midst of the verbal hail-storm, 
put forth the whys and wherefores of this move with a 
conciseness, calmness, resolution and boldness that I 
never knew before was in the boy.” 

(Smy is her brother’s senior by one whole year, yet here 
he is the first one to despair.) 

No such thing ; the best of men like to be pitied 
and cuddled by the women folks at home. I’ll wager at 
this moment he’s carrying it with a bold front down 
town among the men.” 

Thus reassured, I profiered another stepping stone. 

And what did we say, sis, you and I ” I asked, coax- 
ingly. 

‘‘We said, whither Jack went we’d go. His downs 
should be our downs, his ups our ups. We vowed that 
we would follow him through the wide world ; and that 
if our fate was to be the fate of Kitty Clover’s pig, who, 


20 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


while it lived, lived in clover, and when it died, died all 
over, we would at least have the satisfaction of knowinsr 
that we had clovered and died together. At least, that 
is what we meant.” 

“ Precisely ; but, Eleanor, we don’t propose to creep 
back at all, do we ? ” 

‘‘Notunless there should be a universal annihilation 
of more improved modes of locomotion,” she answers, 
with levity. “ We’re not going to give up, are we ? ” 

“ Indeed, no. But what’s become of your idea ? ” 

“Developing in perfection like the bud of promise 
still tightly unfolded in its hard green calyx,” I an- 
swer, taking a short flight on my own responsibility. 

“ At our own present rate of progress,” sniffs Smy, 
“ ’smy opinion that before your bud of promise expands 
sufficiently to receive the benefit of my critical observa- 
tion my bud will return and order us botli to bed.” 

“ Eleanor, I say,” alarmed into gravity by the hint of 
Jack’s sudden interruption of our counsel, for somehow 
or other my best ideas and firmest resolves have a trick 
of eluding my grasp if I dally with them too long, 
“why should not you and I keep John from going 
under ? ” 

“ What else are we doing from morning unto night 


MY IDEA. 


21 


but tlunking of Jack, mending for Jack, baking, making 
and brewing for Jack ? ” 

Oh ! I know in a stay-at-home, lady-like, dainty 
fashion we help Jack all we can. But why should not 
wo put our own shoulders to the wheel ? — standing 
back to back, side by side, like good comrades, and fight 
the fight out with him in the broad arena of the world 
— go into the thickest of it with him and for him ? ’’ 

Do you mean, why can’t you and Jack and 1 
shoulder three muskets and stand side by side in the 
highways, with a halt and deliver for every one who 
passes ? ” Siny asks, with a glimmer in her eyes. That 
I regard as an invitation to come down from the dizzy 
heights of metaphor to the safe level of common sense. 

I mean, why cannot you and I seek some honest, ac- 
tive, respectable and renumerative occupation that will 
fill up the dreadful leisure of these city hours, fill up 
our own private purses, keep John from the wearing ne- 
cessity of supervising the flour barrel and the lard keg, 
and yet in no way militate against our position as ladie.i 
and gentlewomen ? ” 

Smy looked somewhat pleased and somewhat scared. 

Jack would never consent,” she said, presently. 

I know he would not, for Jack is a slave to inherited 


22 


NOBODY* S BUSINESS, 

notions concerning the beautiful helplessness and digni- 
fied good-for-nothingness of Southern ladie^. Therefore, 
we must emancipate our slave. But it must be gradual 
emancipation. At first he must know nothing whatever 
about it. All things are forgiven to the successful in 
life. When our secret efforts towards self-help and help 
for him are crowned with success, we can boldly tell him 
what we have done without any fears for the result.” 

Margaret,” says my sister-in-law, with contrite 
eyes and humble voice, ‘‘ I owe you an apology.” 

For what, Smy ? ” 

For my stupid lack of appreciation of your wonder- 
ful astuteness, your wifely heroism and your universal 
superiority.” 

Smy, you’re laughing at me again.” 

I’m not. I’m adoring you.” 

It was only in moments of the strongest emotional ex- 
citement that Smy found it necessary to wind her arms 
around my neck, and while I patiently submitted to a 
cessation of deglutition to kiss me on each eyelid, and 
on the forehead, tip of the nose and chin, so that, 
when on this occasion she went through with that per- 
formance with even more than her usual deliberation, 
I knew that my idea had found favor in my sister-in- 
law’s eyes. 


MY IDEA, 23 

“ But,” she says, subsiding into her chair and calm- 
ness once more, what shall we be, washerwomen ? ” 

No, ” I say, regarding our four feeble hands con- 
temptuously, we couldn't if we would.” 

Seamstresses ? ” 

Never ! ” 

Visiting governesses ? ” 

« Wehe pretty specimens to think we could teach 
anybody anything.” 

Then how ? That exhausts the received list of fem- 
inine occupations.” 

“ But I did not say I was going to confine myself to 
a received list. That is just what I’m not going to do.” 

Oh ! the bud’s expanding. But if we’re not to be 
* teachers, nor seamstresses, nor washerwomen, nor chore- 
women, what are we to be ? ” 

I don’t know.” 

Then I wouldn’t give a shoestring for your idea 
after all.” 

You haven’t heard it yet.” 

Oh ! ” a little blankly. 

My idea is that every morning, as soon as we’re sure 
Jack’s gone for the day, you and I shall go out in a 
straightforward, manly, honest fashion and look for 


24 


NOBODY^ a BUSINESS. 


employment. No matter what it is, so that our muscles 
or our brains are equal to it, and it accords with our 
own individual ideas of propriety and respectability.” 

“ But Jack ! ” 

Must be hood-winked.” 

^^How.?” 

By an unlimited use of subterfuges, white fibs, 
manoeuvres and evasions. That is the only feature of the 
whole business that I hate. But necessity knows no 
law.” 

Madge,” says Smy, very softly, “ maybe the angel 
that wiped out uncle Toby’s oath will drop an obliter- 
ating tear on our fibs and evasions.” 

Maybe,” I answer. ‘^But Jack is too deeply dyed 
in the wool of Southern prejudices for us to risk the 
truth. He would taunt us with forgetting what was 
due to our position.” 

But other people ? ” 

(I knew afterwards that a portion of Smy’s question- 

Jf 

ing was just to try my mettle.) Other people ! ” and 
I treated her to a fine imitation of one of her scornful 
sniffs. What we do, or where we go, or what the final 
outcome of our Declaration of Independence shall be, is 
nohody^s business,^^ 


resolved: 


25 


CHAPTER HI. 

‘‘resolved.” 

Half an hour later, when Jack reentered our little 
sitting-room, he found his sister and his wife discussing 
“ crochet mats ” and the superiority of “ split ” over 
“ single zephyr,” for “ nubias,” with such tenacity of 
opinion and fervor of declamation, as should have con- 
vinced him, if it did not, that the two females with 
whom he was burdened for life, were two of the pret- 
tiest, mildest, most harmless, and least daring of wo- 
mankind. 

The fact that our dear old John had not “cast that 
shadow from his brow,” in compliance with an airy ob- 
jurgation to that ejffect sent after his retreating form by 
Smy, and that the half-boyish moroseness of the earlier 
evening had deepened into a stern gravity that made 
him absolutely awe-inspiring, only served to strengthen 
the sinews of my inward resolution, that I would no 
longer content myself with being a save-mate only, but, 
from to-morrow, would prove myself a genuine, stirring, 
aetive helpmate. 


26 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS, 


I fell asleep that night with a delicious sense of exal- 
tation and heroism, that I am sorry to say did not abide 
with me always . 

It was my husband’s wont to go straight down town 
every morning from the breakfast table, returning only 
to a five o’clock dinner. So fearful was he, poor fellow, 
that the single moment wasted at home would be the 
very one in which should occur that turn in the tide 
which taken at its flow leads on to fortune, etc., that he 
barely gave himself time to swallow his food like a 
Christian gentleman. 

This morning, for the first time, Eleanor and I viewed 
without dissatisfaction the prospect of seven or eight 
hours in which there was no probability and the barest 
possibility of our seeing him. 

Bustling around at a great rate, so that my unusual 
absence should not be the occasion of any household con- 
fusion that might excite Jack’s suspicion, I was ready by ^ 
ten o’clock, booted and hatted (spurred, I felt like say- 
ing), and standing at the foot of the stairs calling to 
Smy to come on.” 

‘‘ Ye-es 1 ” came from Smy’s upstairs chamber, in 
dreamy, absent tones. I drew on one glove and waited, 

I drew on the other and fidgeted. I pulled the little 


resolved:^ 


27 


piece of dotted net still tighter over my imprisoned nose, 
and sent a second Sm-y-i ! ” upstairs in impatient 
crescendo. 

“ Pres-ent-ly ! ” came back in placid diminuendo. 

I rushed spitefully into her presence, springing up- 
stairs with all the velocity compatible with ‘^pin-backs.” 

Smy ! ” I snap, have you forgotten ? ” 

There she sat, a perfect picture of literary abstraction 
and studious distraction, a pencil in hand, pair of scis- 
sors at hand, papers on hand, newspapers, I mean, of 
every size and every description, weeklies and dailies, 
folded and unfolded, and half folded, on the bed, on the 
table, on the floor, on- her lap, while, utterly oblivious of 
me or my excitement, or her own promise to go with me, 
she bent her small brown head in absorption over a para- 
graph I could not see. 

This is a pefect shame ! ” I say resentfully. 

That’s my opinion,” she drawls, turning her big 
eyes reproachfully upon my ruffled visage. You tem- 
pestuous creature, it’s a wonder your gusty advent has 
not blown my chances of a fortune to the four winds of 
heaven. Luckily the windows are all down.” 

‘^Have you decided to become an editor?” I ask. 

Is that your road out of our difficulties ? ” 


28 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


‘^Me an editor!” Smy laughs, too much amused 
to be particular about grammar. “ No, indeed ; but 
you see, Cherio, there is nothing like being armed 
with documents. Now observe” (and she held open 
her porte-monnaie, so that I might observe). I am 
informed by these friendly newspapers” (waving her 
hand over the papery chaos), which, by the way, 
do make my private apartments look a little sanctum- 
sanctorumy this morning, that I can make a fortune 
in a day, in fact that fortunes are lying about loose in 
divers and sundry places in this wonderful town, if peo- 
ple would only read the newspaper and find out the 
localities. I’ve been doing that very thing. I shall not 
have to walk to the end of the rainbow for my pot of 
gold.” 

Where then ? ” I ask. 

Firstly, I am told that ^parties willing to work can 
make three to five dollars a day (business perfectly legiti- 
mate and respectable ; the most refined ladies engage in 
it), by calling at No. 14 Grand street.’ I have cut that 
« out, so that when I call at No. 14 Grand street I can 
speak as one having authority. Think of it, Madge, 
Hhree to five dollars a day!’ Again, ‘Work for all; 
hundreds in it. Call at ^01 Morley street.’ And again, 


resolved:^ 29 

^ Lady agents wanted to sell an article every lady will 
buy.’ ” 

Agent ! Smy — you ! I feel slightly sea-sick.” 

I thought,” says Smy, we were to do anything that 
our muscles or our brains were equal to, if it accorded 
with our own ideas of propriety.” 

I wonder what the article is ? ” I say, taking refuge 
in womanish curiosity, as Smy thus hurls my own words 
back at me. 

Can’t say, but I’ve cut out just nineteen of those 
encouraging paragraphs, and surely some one of them 
will just fill the requirements of two decayed gentlewo- 
men.” 

I can’t speak for myself, but I’m sure as Smy stepped 
out of the front door by my side, her trim little figure 
arrayed in a gray poplin of fashionable make, a jaunty 
hat and feather crowning her soft wavy brown hair, her 
big blue eyes sparkling with the novelty and excitement 
of our errand, there was ne’er a sign of decay discovera- 
ble about her, but from the curve of her pretty instep to 
the thin, wide nostrils of her fine straight nose, the gen- 
tlewoman was evident. 

If I were to detail the minutia of that day’s doings 


30 NOBOD T'8 B USINE88. 

the recital would tire my readers almost as much as the 
day tired us. 

Three o’clock found us at home again, hot, hungry 
and tired, no wiser and no richer than when we went 
out, with a tell-tale air of depression about us that I 
felt would never do. 

Eleanor,” I say, with a rebuking air, there is a 
general appearance of fatigue and failure about you that 
is sure to invoke some affectionate but inconvenient in- 
quiries from your brother.” 

was thinking as much of you,” she answered. 
Then she fell to laughing in the most inconsequent 
fashion. 

Are you contemplating varying the morning’s exer- 
cises with a bit of hysterics ? ” I ask, piling my gloves on 
top pf my veil, which, with my hat and parasol and purse 
are heaped in my tired lap, while I lie back in one of 
the parlor chairs, wishing vainly for one of the scores of 
little black hand-maidens that used to swarm at my bid- 
ding, way down upon de old plantation.” 

iTo ; but, Madge ! oh my ! I wish you could have seen 
your face when we got out in the street again from the 
lady agent place ! You looked like you’d been stealing.” 


resolved:^ 31 

I wish you could have seen yours^ you looked as if 
you hadn’t life enough left in you to steal.” 

Are you going to give up because we did not find 
our pot of gold in Grand street or Morley street or that 
— that other stupid’s ? ” I ask, presently. 

No, indeed. I think if I ever muster energy enough 
to get these hot boots off, and bathe my face and get a 
nap before John gets home. I’ll be in trim for another 
campaign.” 

“ I’m afraid we haven’t reached that pitch of self- 
forgetfulness or self-denial that makes people oblivious 
of such sybaritic requirements as cool slippers and re- 
freshing naps,” I say, despondently. 

’Smy opinion we never will, sis ; there’s not the mak- 
ing of a St. Simeon Stylites between us both.” 

But before wo have to face John, I have another 
proposition to make. I believe it is customary with 
men when they are about to undertake anything big or 
hazardous or terrifying to pass a series of resolutions 
(‘ Papers of Commitment ’ they ought to be called), in 
which they commit themselves to a certain course of 
conduct so fully and unmistakably that there’s no decent 
escape from it.” 

Exactly.” 


32 


NOBOD YB B US1NES3. 


I’m afraid if we don’t do something of that 
sort, Srny, say something in black and white that will 
reproacli ns with its own unchangeableness when we’re 
inclined to mutability, that we’ll flag in the good 
work and be tempted to slip sneakily back into ‘ our 
sphere.’ I feel sensibly weaker now than I did this 
morning.” 

So do I ; but I thought it was hunger in my case. 
You know we generally lunch about one o’clock,” Smy 
answers, suggestively. 

So I refreshed my famished co-adjutor with brandy 
fruit and Oracknell biscuit, after which she gratefully 
drafted the following resolutions, which had almost as 
many amendments as the Constitution of the United 
States before they were pronounced perfect : 

“ Kesolved, firstl}'-. That we love our husband and our 
brother very, very — ” 

That sounds as if there were two men in the ques- 
tion,” I interrupt her to say. 

Heaven forbid 1 One’s like to prove too much for 
us. I’ll amend that. Now, then. ‘ Resolved, firstly. 
That wo love our John W. Walton very dearly.’ ” 

Sounds sorter formal, as if we weren’t on the best 
of terms with our John W.” 


hesolyed: 


33 

Madge, resolutions have to be formal, or they 
wouldn’t be binding,” says Smy, sententiously. 

Resolved, secondly, That if the united efforts of two 
loving-hearted women, strong of soul if feeble of — ^feeble 
in — feeble — feeble — 

Say bone ! ” 

I will not.” 

‘‘ Rlesh ! ” 

« No.” 

Sinew, then.” 

Sinew ! sinew ! yes, that will do. If sinew can 
avail aught they shall not be spared to prevent our 
well-beloved brother from going under.” 

“ Well-beloved brother sounds awfully like Masonic 
obituary resolutions, Smy.” 

“ I consider that a high compliment.” 

Resolved, thirdly. That we will let nothing but sick- 
ness or death interfere with the earnest labor we have 
this day begun.” 

That’s perfect.” 

Resolved, That we will not permit our home to be 
the abode of gloom and despondency, but (especially 
when Jack is at home) will veto all business discussions, 


34 NOBOD TS B USINESS, 

all financial worries, all vain discourse about ways and 
means.” 

Hear l^ear ! ” 

Kesolved, That sufficient unto the day is the evil 
thereof — and — that — that — ” 

Care killed the cat,” I say. Smy, isn’t it just 
possible to resolve too much ? ” My last words are ac- 
companied by an irrepressible yawn. 

‘^Just possible,” she wisely assents. “ But how do 
you suppose men wind up their resolutions, Madge ? 
I’m perfectly willing to stop, but don’t know how.” 

“ With a hereunto we do set our signs and seals, I 
expect.” 

‘‘ Maybe,” says Smy dubiously, so we solemnly sign 
our wise resolutions. 


CHAPTER lY. 
plesham’s. 

Eleanob,” I ask, the next morning, as we are pre- 
paring to start forth again, ‘Hiave you read over our 
resolutions this morning ? If you have what conclusion 
have you come to ? ” 

About them, or you or me ? ” 


PLESHAM'S. 


35 


About them in the first place.” 

I consider them a substantiation of the assertion, 
that little nonsense now and then is ?elished by 
the wisest men.’ I read them over on the principle 
that a boy whistles in the dark — just to keep up his 
courage, you know. So, on to the charge.” And we 
start down the street together. 

Suddenly I come to a halt with the inq^uiry, Smy, 
is it absolutely necessary for us to hunt in couples ? for 
I think a division of forces might improve our chances 
of success.” 

Not at all ! ” she answers. One can fly east, 
and one can fly west, and one can fly over the cuckoo’s 
nest. That exquisite line of poesy embraces the magic 
three of you. Jack and me. It must have been written 
in the spirit of prophecy.” 

‘‘Eleanor, we go on like two scatter-brained girls that 
haven’t a serious idea between them.” 

“ Indeed ; but we have though ; we have Jack between 
us, and ’smy opinion he’s an awfully serious item in any- 
body’s life. If it were not for the safety-valve of non- 
sense, you and I, my sister, would fill untimely graves.” 

“ Very well ; let us each ‘ gang our ain gait ’ until 
St. Patrick’s big bell shall tell the hour of one, then we 


36 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


will botli start fur Plesliam’s book-store and go home to- 
gether. We staid out too long yesterday.” 

Very good ! I’ll fly east,” says she. 

Good-bye and good luck,” say I. 

The same to you,” with which Smy trots briskly 
out of sight, and I stand motionless for a moment, won- 
dering in what direction I shall begin operations. 

I am thankful for the fact that I really need some 
hair-pins, so I find my way into a hair store and make 
the selection of my pins a matter of time and delibera- 
tion, shrinking painfully trom tlie self-imposed task 
before me. Somehow the little shop assumes the pro- 
portions of a refuge from possible impertinences, proba- 
ble stares and inevitable curiosity, wherever and when- 
ever I shall present my application for work. (Smy 
says we don’t look shabby enough nor hungry enough to 
avoid being considered impostors.) 

My shopi)ing completed, I stood idly for a few mo- 
ments on the threshold of the door, watching the busy 
bustling stream surging ceaselessly up and down the 
broad street. Ever and anon a familiar face would flash 
across my retina (for we were not entire strangers in the 
city) passing as rapidly as the changes of the kaleido- 
scope, but before my spasmodic effort to obtain recogni- 


PLESHAM^S, 


37 


tion could avail aught, the face would be nowhere. Hurry- 
scurry, pell-mell, push-rush, they passed me, young men 
and old men, young women and old women, young chil- 
dren and old children. The one as fast as the other, all 
rushing madly to arrive at — no place, all fiercely eager 
to accomplish — nothing. I was irresistibly reminded 
of that curious piece of poetry, How the water comes 
down at Lodore.” 

It’s atmospheric influence, I thought to myself, atmos- 
pheric influence, and until I, too, learn to hurry, scurry, 
rush, push, I’m afraid I’ll never accomplish anything in 
this fierce maelstorm. 

Then I found myself envying a pretty girl who was 
sitting serenely on one of the stools in the hair store, evi- 
dently waiting for somebody. She was the one restful 
object within reach of my eye. Plenty of money and 
plenty of leisure were indicated in her general appear- 
ance of self-satisfaction and quietude. Presently there 
darted by me, with the swiftness of a swallow, the some- 
body she had been waiting for, another girl, pretty well- 
to-do, and with no duty more pressing that enjoying 
herself, as she soon made evident. 

“Oh! Jule, here’s our Mardi Gras tickets. Now, 
let’s go to Shawle’s and order our dresses.” 


38 


NOBOD Y^S BUSINESS. 


Bat the photos ? ” her friend answered. 

Oh ! I’d forgotten them. Here tliey are.” And the 
cartes were thrown on the counter for my lady’s in- 
spection. 

‘‘Why, the coloring is perfectly abominable ! ” 

“ I know it is, and Cassoni implored me not to take 
them, but I told him they were for friends who were go- 
ing to start to Europe to-morrow and we had to have 
them. He says his regular colorist has gotten on a 
terrible spree and he had 'to pick up any one he could 
get.” 

“ I think he must have picked up a sign painter then. 
Cassoni should employ female colorists. They don’t get 
drunk and they don’t color a lady’s picture as if they 
were white- washing a barn door,” says my lady Serene, 
with soft-voiced indignation. 

I turn and give her a grateful look. It flashes upon 
me that my own need of hair-pins, my search for them 
in that very store, my unwonted dilatoriness over their 
selection, my eavesdrppping upon those two girls, and 
Cassoni’s colorist’s spree are but so many links in a 
chain welded by the hand of Providence to help us 
“ pull through.” I wonder if I’m a fatalist ? 

“ Young ladies,” I ask, boldly, “ will you be so good 


PLESEAM^S, 


39 


as to give me Cassoni’s address ? ” wliicli they do, sup- 
plementing it with a bit of advice, Don’t go there at 
present if you want colored photographs.” But I de- 
cline their advice and go straight to Cassoni’s. 

And when St. Patrick tells the hour of one, it finds 
me sitting flushed with triumph on one of the stools in 
at Plesham’s, leisurely turning over the leaves of a pic- 
torial paper, wishing that Smy would hurry up so that 
I may tell her of my Providential good luck. Tell her 
I have found work to do. Plenty of work, paying work, 
genteel work, that I am to be permitted to take home 
with me. I can hardly hope that my little sister has 
been so fortunate. 

A few minutes later she joins me. She comes towards 
me at rather a sober gait, and wearing an expression of 
countenance that completely mystifies me. 

‘‘ You’ve been successful,” she says, as soon as she 
is close to me ; “I see it shining in your eyes.” 

I have beyond m.y brightest expectations. And you ? ” 

I hardly know. I’ve got a good deal to tell you, 
and we’ll have to take counsel together. Wait till I 
get home.” 

But tell me a little, Smy.” 

It depends,” she says, with a queer little smile, 


40 


NOBODY^ 8 BUSINESS. 


my ability to procure a dozen alligators, ranging from 
infancy to senility.” 

Smy, are you crazy ! ” 

‘‘ No ! but I verily believe I have been in contact with 
a man who is.” 

"Which was every word I could get out of her before 
we were safely at home. 

To our surprise and consternation Jack opened the 
front door for us himself. 

What are you doing here ? ” I ask, starting back in 
some confusion. 

Come now, that’s cool. Considering I’m supposed to 
be the head of the house I’m standing in, what are you 
doing there ? ” he retorts. 

“ Shopping,” I reply, triumphantly, and hold up my 
bundle of hair-pins. “ What is it. Jack ? ” I ask when 
the front door closes us all in, I know you’re dying to 
tell us something.” 

“ I am, my dears ; I came all the way up town, rode 
too, at that, to inform you that there is a destiny that 
shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.” 

“ Is that all ? ” we ask in chorus. 

“ All you’ll get out of me on an empty stomach,” is 
his materialistic reply. 


EXPLANATIONS THAT DON'T EXPLAIN, 


41 


CHAPTER V. 

EXPLANATIONS THAT DON’t EXPLAIN. 

Now, Jack, what has destiny been doing to you ? ” 
Smy asks, with the air of being quite ready to call Des- 
tiny to account. 

We had finished our own dinners, and sat watching 
him with patient impatience, secretly convinced that 
nothing on earth would ever prove sufficiently startling, 
unexpected, or important, to interfere with John’s di- 
gestive organs. 

She has been putting a paper cap on my head, and 
a bed-ticking apron across my manly bosom,” Jack an- 
swers, with a backward shove of his chair, and a final 
sweep of his napkin across his splendid mustache. 

The paper cap, I suppose,” I say (taking John’s 
assertion in a purely Picwickian spirit) is symbolical of 
Folly’s cap and bells, but I fail to grasp the meaning of 
the bed-ticking apron. ‘‘I really think, John,” I con- 
tinue, in a gravely rebuking voice, ^^that two simple- 
tons in so small a family are quite enough. Eleanor 
and I can make geese of ourselves without doing much 


42 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


damage, but from you, as a man and the head of a fam- 
ily, we have a right to expect seriousness of discourse, 
gravity of assertion, and universal superiority in the 
management of that unruly member, the tongue.’^ 

‘‘ Deuced shaky headship. But if you will insist upon 
dull common-place. Destiny has been making a saddler 
of me.” 

‘‘Jack ! ” 

“John!” 

“ Ladies ! ” 

“ My brother in a paper cap and a dirty ticking 
apron 1 ” says Smy, with a sob in her voice. 

“It needn’t necessarily be a dirty apron, Eleanor,” I 
say sharply ; “ besides, if I can stand it, I should think 
you could ! ” 

“And if I can stand it, I should think you both 
could ! ” says Jack. 

“ What would aunt Drew say ? ” 

“ And uncle Phil ? ” 

“ An honest saddler ’s the noblest work of God,” says 
Jack, combatively. 

I give Smy a reproving glance. We are certainly not 
sustaining Jack properly. 

“ It is honest,” I concede. 


EXP LANA TIONS TEA T DON EXPLAIN 43 

“^And liis muscles and his brains are equal to it,”^ 
says Silly, taking her cue, and sustaining me with my 
own words. 

And it accords with his own notions of propriety ; 
and what Jack sees fit to do for his own and our main- 
tenance is nobody’s business.” 

But, tell us. Jack, how you came to do it.” 

I can’t exactly say that I did come to do it. In 
fact, I came to do something very different. When I 
gave up the plantation, and asserted so blatantly that I 
was going to the city to worh^ I had a vague notion of 
winding up in a commission house, law office, or news- 
paper sanctum, all three highly respectable occupations, 
and not at all shocking to an ex-planter and one of the 
have beens.” But I found that none of the commis- 
sion merchants seemed to hanker after me. I concluded 
I was too old, and too poor, to make believe work 
in a lawyer’s office ; and the newspapers seemed to 
fiourish without the benefit of my bottled up erudi- 
tion. Then I came down a step, and contemplated 
drugging—” 

1^ Drugging who, John ? ” 

“ Going into the drug business. But I had forgotten 
too much Latin. I was weighed in the medicine scales^ 


44 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


and found wanting. The grocery business offended my 
nostrils and insulted my ancestors. I never could abide 
the blended perfume of whiskey, brown sugar and to- 
bacco. I sought occupation as a dry good’s clerk, but 
the proprietor happened to be close at hand when a lady 
asked me for organdy, and I gave her alpaca. So, after 
a brief but brilliant engagement of half an hour, I was 
requested to resign my position and save my employer 
the trouble of kicking me out.” 

“ Strange you never thought of turning life insurance 
man,” says I. 

My dear, there are already three hundred life insur- 
ance agents in this town to every two hundred inhabi- 
tants. After having led the life of a tramp for two 
months, until I had almost concluded there were but 
two courses left open to me, suicide or whittling dry 
goods boxes at the street corners, I had occasion to go 
into a saddler’s to see if that saddle uncle Phil asked me 
to order was finished ; and when the saddler apologized 
for his failure to keep his promise on the score of being 
short-handed, I immediately made application for work, 
and am sincerely glad to say I got it.” 

‘‘Poor old Jack,” says Smy, very softly as if she were 
almost afraid to trust her voice to say more. 


EXPLAN A TTONS TEA T DON'T EXPLAIN. 45 

While I ask, hesitantly, ^^Jack, will you haveio sit 
cross-legged ? ” 

The roar of laughter with which my husband greeted 
this inquiry acted as a tonic on our fainting spirits. 

Strikes me, girls,” he said, as soon as he could say 
anything for laughing, “ that you regard me as more an 
object of pity now than you did when I was a gentleman 
loafer.” 

I feel convicted of cowardice and of the most woman- 
ish inconsistency — I who have been playing the braggart 
about not confining ourselves to inherited ideas, and all 
that sort of thing. So I turn on Smy with, You 
know, sis, he might have gone into a corner grocery.” 

“ Or committed suicide,” says Jack, looking solemn. 

At which Smy laughs with the tears still standing in 
her sweet eyes, and putting her arms about her brother’s 
neck, she says, John, you’re a hero and I’m a coward. 
And I love you better than tongue can tell.” 

‘^That being the case,” says Jack, “ I’ll take you both 
to hear Aimee to-night. You know I wont have to put 
on my cap and apron before to-morrow.” 

All this while I was consumed with a secret desire to 
hear Smy’s explanation of her day's doings, and to 
know what on earth a dozen alligators had to do with it. 


46 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


Late as it was when we got home from the opera 
Bouffe, I only waited till Jack was safely in bed, when 
slipping across the hall in nocturnal garb, I curled up in 
a knot on the foot of Smy’s bed, determined not to sleep 
before I heard it all. 

Smy was combing out her long thick hair, and peeped 
at me wonderingly through the wavy masses, while I 
tucked a shawl around my bare feet and affectionately 
clasped my knees within my folded arms. 

What on earth ! ” she says. 

Smy,” I make answer, “ sleeping on unsatisfied cu- 
riosity is just as sure to give me nightmare as a supper 
of lobster salad. I’m suffering from both to-night, so I 
really am afraid to go to bed.” 

’Smy opinion rheumatism will be your next ailment, 
and that’ll pinch worst of all,” with whicli she half 
smothers me in shawls. 

I wriggle my mouth above my woolen envelop and 
repeat, “ I must hear about your crazy man and the alli- 
gators, Eleanor ! ” 

‘‘Well,” she began, “there’s not so very much to 
tell, but what there is, is certainly very curious. If my 
explanation don’t explain, it will be because, as yet, I 
have hardly made up my mind what to think of the old 


/ 


EXPLAN A TIONS TEA T DON^ T EXPLAIN. 47 

gentleman wlio has made me a conditional promise 
that will he glorious if it ever comes to anything.” 

That will do for the way of prologue. Now for an 
allegation touching the alligators.” 

Well, as I was going leisurely down Thalia street, 
hardly knowing what to be at first, I lieard a cry raised 
of ‘ mad dog ! mad dog ! ’ close behind me, and saw 
people scudding in every direction like dried leaves be- 
fore a high wind. You may depend I did not stand 
upon ceremony or upon the order of my going. I was 
just in front of a handsome door opening immediately 
upon the sidewalk. I sprang up its two low stone steps 
and with a savage push let myself into, oh ! Madge, the 
strangest place ! It was a great big handsome room, 
with lofty frescoed ceilings, filled to confusion with mas- 
sive elegant furniture, that looked as if it hadn’t been 
dusted in a century. Wherever there wasn’t a door or a 
window there was a book-case reaching from floor to 
ceiling, and packed to repletion with books, books crowd- 
ing the tables, tumbling off the chairs, stacked in the 
corners. Books, books everywhere, and — ” 

“Not a drop to drink,” I fling in wildly. 

“ More books than you and I ever saw in all our lives, 
Madge. It was as still as death in there, close as it was 


48 


NOBODY^ 8 BUSINESS. 


to the roaring city ; the doors and windows seemed to 
have heen constructed with a view to keeping out noise 
and—” 

Mad dogs.” 

“ A dim religious light prevailed that only made the 
solemn old room more awe-inspiring than ever. The 
ticking of a handsome clock on the mantel-shelf, and 
the faint plash of the water every now and then, as if a 
fish floundering were all the sounds I heard. After I 
got over my mad-dog fright, I began to look around me 
in a new sort of alarm. I had evidently invaded, private 
property. But to whom should I make ray explana- 
tions and apologies ? So far as I could discover there 
wasn’t a human being within eye or ear shot. I made 
up my mind to retreat as I ha'd come, uninvited and un- 
welcomed. But when I tried to open the door again it 
wouldn’t open. My violent slam had evidently sprung 
a secret fastening. Here was a go — 

Eleanor ! that is regular street boy slang. I’m 
shocked.” 

‘^So am I. I was about to add ‘as Jack would 
say ’ — 

“It’s all very well to lay it on poor old Jack.” 

“Well, then, here wasn’t a go. When I found out I 


EXPLAITATIOJSfS THAT DON'T EXPLAIN 49 

couldn’t get away, I began walking around my prison 
very much as a mouse might traverse a mouse trajD, until 
I began to feel a sort of proprietary interest in my trap. 
I supposed some time or other somebody would come 
along who had a better right there than I, when I would 
explain matters, make my apologies and ask to be liber- 
ated. At every step I took some curiosity met my gaze. 
Here it was an aquariam full of creeping things, then a 
jar of hideous lizards, then a glass bowl in which tadpoles 
were visibly turning to frogs, and nests of snakes enough 
to give a man mania d portu. Gradually I worked my 
way toward an open space in one corner of the room, 
where I found the greatest curiosity and surprise of all. 
A space had been cleared by shoving books and chairs, 
and jars and globes, into a still more chaotic heap, and in 
the space so cleared, sat an old man, with a magnificent 
bald head, bending over a large tub of water, in which 
floundered an expiring young alligator. I walked boldly 
up to him, and modestly said, ^ Good-morning, sir ! ’ He 
took no more notice of me than if I had been one of the 
dusty old chairs or globes that belonged there. I tried 
it again, ^ Good-morning, sir ! ’ but he never once raised 
his eyes from the alligator in that tub. I glanced about, 
me to see if there was no other human being discover- 


50 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS 


able, when my eye fell on a big ear- trumpet. Ah, ha ! 
I thought, that’s the trouble. He’s deaf. So, armed 
with the trumpet, I approached my jailer and stuck his 
end into his unresisting hand. Then for the first time, 
he acknowledged my presence with a good humored stare 
and an amiable ^ howdy do ? ’ Then I shrieked my apolo- 
gies through the trumpet, making him bounce clear out 
of his chair, and asked to be let out of the door. 

^^^King for somebody,’ he said testily; wouldn’t 
lose sight of that alligator two seconds for a hundred 
dollars.’ 

^^^It’s dying,’ I said, contemptously. 

<■ What do you know about it ? ’ he asked, for the 
first time regarding me with a stare of interest. 

‘I was raised among alligators,’ I answer, upon which 
he seized my hand with fervor, saying, ‘You don’t say 
BO, you don’t say so ; sit down, my dear child ; don’t be 
in a hurry ; you must tell me something about the inter- 
esting oreatures.’ 

“ That was the first time, Madge, that I ever felt 
proud 'of my intimacy with alligators. But the prospect 
of shrieking what I knew about alligators through that 
trumpet wasn’t to be thought of, so ‘ Can’t I write it ? ’ 
I yelled, firmly convinced that I was dealing with a 


EXPLAlTATIOm THAT DON^T EXPLAIN. 51 


madman, whom I must humor, or risk some horrible 
punishment. ^ Yes, yes,’ he said eagerly, pushing me 
bodily toward a desk ; ‘ but can you write ? ’ 

^ Can I write ? ’ I echo indignantly ; ^ of course I 
can.’ 

^ Maybe you can, and maybe you can’t,’ says my 
jailer. ‘Young ladies that know all about alligators 
and can write don’t swarm in the streets of this city.’ 

“ ‘ I can get you a dozen alligators,’ I said rashly, 
indignant at his evident doubts of my veracity. 

“ ‘ Child,’ he said, with such an eager look in his great 
big eyes, ‘ don’t say that unless you really mean it.’ 

“ I felt frightened, and wanted to get out of there, so I 
fell to writing furiously, telling all that I knew about the 
habitat and habits of our swamp alligators. In the 
meantime the old man had gone back to his tub. 
Presently I heard him say in the saddest voice, ‘ It is 
dead, too soon, too soon.’ 

“ I soon finished my composition on the alligator, and 
handed it to him. He looked at it with surprised de- 
light. ‘ Do you always write like that ? ’ he asked, ‘ or 
were you trying ? ’ 

“ ‘ That is the only way I know how to write,’ I say. 

‘ And can you really get me a dozen alligators ? ’ 


52 


NOBODY^ 8 BTT8INE88. 


^ If you really want them, I can.’ 

‘ Who are you, any how ? ’ he asked. 

“ ^ My name is Eleanor Walton,’ I said. ‘I am from 
a Southern plantation, that we were too poor to hold on 
to. I am looking for something to do that will help 
to keep our heads above water.’ 

“‘And I,’ he said, ‘am Dr. Wagner. Everybody 
knows me. I’m writing a book on natural history. My 
knowledge of the alligator’s habits is not accurate 
enough to satisfy me. You write a hand like copy-plate. 
Procure me those alligators, by way of proving yourself 
a girl of your word. I’ll give you one month to get 
them in. Bring them here to me and I’ll see if I can’t 
help you to keep your head above water. Now go and 
ask folks who the devil Dr. Wagner is ? ’ Then he 
opened the door for me and I ran. Voila tout.'*'* 


MBS. BLTJXOM. 


53 


CHAPTER YI. 

MRS. BLUXOM. 

Of all the ills that poor humanity is heir to, the su- 
premest is your person of the best intentions I ” 

Right across the street from our new home there lived 
V just such an ^411.” 

To our physical perception, at first sight, she was a 
buxom dame, of fair proportions and cheery aspect. To 
our moral perceptions (offspring of experience) she was 
a serpent’s tooth, or, the same serpent in the grass, or, 
an eating cancer on the body social, or anything else 
altogether horrible and abominable you may choose to 
liken her unto. 

I speak strongly of our neighbor, Mrs. Bluxom, for 
even at this late day I cannot forget how I suffered 
through her best intentions.” And out of the fulness 
of my memory my hand transcribeth. In an evil hour 
J ohn had summoned her husband, Dr. Bluxom, to at- 
tend me through a slight attack of neuralgia. Alack, 
the hour ! She insisted upon regarding Jack, Smy and 
me as three innocent irresponsibles, who, either from 


54 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


lack of natural capacity, or by reason of our rustic rear- 
ing, were entirely unfitted to cope with the dragons of 
vice and monsters of iniquity that were ready at any 
moment to devour us for our rash temerity in rushing 
into the arena of city life 

In vain we tried to convince her that we were a match 
for any dozen villains she could produce ! In vain we 
boasted in the most shameless fashion of our perfect fa- 
miliarity with that monster of hidden mien,” vice, in 
its city garb. In vain we tried to “bluff” her by a 
show of brassy independence that was the veriest sham. 
She would smile that superior smile of hers, and say, in 
that superior voice of hers, “ My dears, you know noth- 
ing of city life. Your lessons have all been conned in 
the lap of nature. Your experience of human nature 
has been confined to the rural districts, where honor 
and morality go hand in hand with pastoral simplicity 
and arcadian content. My intentions are the best in the 
world, you must permit me to warn you, etc. If you 
young people had a mother,” she would continue, or even 
an aunt, or anybody that did not look so absurdly young 
and childish, I should really feel impertinent, but as it 
is ” — upon which she would proceed to be as impertinent 
as it was possible to be. 


MBS. BLUXOM. 55 

For several weeks after Jack and I had found work 
(not that I had been as honest he had been and told my 
business), it began to seem as if we really were going ta 

pull through” with the greatest ease imaginable. It 
is true, Jack (who did so dearly love to lie abed of 
mornings), had to eat his breakfast and hurry oif down 
town at a most unearthly hour of the morning, but that 
only gave me all the more leisure to prosecute my secret 
industries. 

Eleanor grumbled at a great rate over her own en- 
forced idleness, calling herself a drone, a burden, a 
loafer and lots of other pretty pet names, through all 
of which I would say soothingly, Wait until your alli- 
gators come.” 

(She had written to the plantation for one dozen 
small alligators, and Mr. Stedman, the lessee of our place, 
had kindly promised to see them packed and shipped. 
They abounded in our lake at home.) 

It was during this time of my content and her discon- 
tent that, one morning, she at the window, whither she 
had rushed, hoping that the^ ring we heard at the door 
might be a carrier with her alligators, I at my table col- 
oring away furiously on my photographs, that I heard 
her exclaim, in a voice of disgust, Here she is again ! ” 


56 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


Who?” 

Mrs. Bluxom ! I do think there ought to be some 
police regulation to protect people from suet a nui- 
jsance.” 

After which, my dearie, I hope you find yourself in 
a proper frame of mind to go down stairs and assure her 
of your delight at her visit.” 

Indeed, I shall do no such thing.” 

‘^You don’t really mean, Smy, that you are going to 
make me lay aside my work when I am so anxious to 
finish this batch this morning ? ” 

“ No,” she says, relenting, ‘Hhat would be too bad. I 
have heard that it is always the fate of a drone to be 
stung to death, and I suppose Mrs. Bluxom is simply the 
divinely appointed instrument of my fit punishment ;” 
with which she sailed down stairs, head defiantly erect 
and bristling all over with her touch-me-not air. 

Half an hour elapsed, in w^hich I had almost forgotten 
Mrs. Bluxom’s existence, as I dreamily plied my paint 
brush and thought of the glad, proud time which my feeble 
hand was helping to hasten, when, J ohn’s debts all paid, 
the dear old homestead redeemed and reclaimed, we 
could shake the dust of this hot toilsome city from our 
feet and go back to live on the old lake place, where the 


2nt8. BLUXOM, 


57 

mocking birds would sing us to sleep every night. I 
thought of the peach and the plum trees, that must be 
in the full glory of their pink and white blossom-tide 
just now. How I wished I could stand under their low 
spreading branches for a wee moment, and shake the 
sweet smelling snowflakes down on my head. 

I had been to Cassoni’s that morning for fresh photos, 
and I think it was the Koyal street flower girls that had 
set me to thinking half sadly of home. They had 
ofiered me crocuses and violets and hyacinths in poor 
little pinched bunches tightly bound with coarse threads, 
and the pale, sweet faces of the flowers, so dear and so 
familiar, seemed to my foolish fancy hke friends in 
bondage in a strange land. I had brought a bunch of 
them home, and loosed their fetters and given them 
their freedom in a shallow glass dish, and as I worked 
they expressed their gratitude in fragrant sighs that 
stirred me with a sadness that 

“Kesembled sorrow only 
As the mist resembles the rain.” 

A harsh slamming of the parlor door, and a swirl of 
skirts as Smy swept upstairs, evidently in a state of in- 
tense excitement, brought me back with a terrific jerk to 
a knowledge of Mrs. Bluxom’s exodus and Smy’s advent. 


58 


NOBODY ^8 BUSINESS. 


“ Margaret,” she says (cheeks and eyes ablaze), what 
do you suppose our lady of the best intentions came here 
this morning for ? ” 

“ Can’t imagine,” I drawl. 

(There isr a tacit understanding between Smy and me, 
that when one gets excited, the other is to keep cool, 
preserving our equilibrium on the see-saw principle, one 
up, t’other down.) 

She came here to stab J ack in the back ! ” 

Why didn’t you yell ^ Police ! ’ or ‘ murder ” I 
ask, too acustomed to Mrs. Bluxom’s dagger-pointed in- 
uendoes to be stirred to wrath thereat readily. 

Because ! ” she answers, as I remarked before go- 
ing down, unfortunately, police regulations stop short of 
Mrs. Bluxom, and as long as it is only a man’s reputa- 
tion that is murdered, the murderer is amenable to no 
law of God or man.” 

I had been touching up my subject’s nose with a deli- 
cate shadow, meaning presently to take Smy severely to 
task for becoming so wrought up over a gossip’s venom, 
when the word reputation brought me to a stand still 
with my brush aloft and my cheeks burning, as I asked, 
“ Whose reputation ? ” 

“ John’s I ” 


MBS. BLUXOM. 59 

“Eleanor, has that meddler been casting any slurs 
upon my husband’s reputation ? ” 

“Yes, she has.” 

“ Tell me word for word what she said,” I say, with 
enforced calmness. 

“Well! of course she began with her usual formula 
of ‘ good intentions.’ When I gave her your excuses, 
she said that ^ for once she really rejoiced in your ab- 
sence, for she had come to see me privately, on a very 
important matter, that concerned all three of us very 
nearly.’ She hoped ‘ I knew her well enough by this 
time to feel assured that she had come over this morn- 
ing with the very best intentions, and, as we three 
young people, fresh from the pure sweet influences of our 
rural existence, ignorant of vice, and unsuspicious of 
danger, had always elicited her deepest sympathy, she 
hoped ’ — Here I coughed so impatiently that she cur- 
tailed her prologue and asked me with some abruptness 
if my brother’s wife, poor young thing, had any idea of 
how and where her husband spent his down-town hours, 
and I told her you certainly did know where he spent 
them, at his place of business — hoWj was nobody’s busi- 
ness.” 

“Oh! Smy 1” 


60 


irOBODT'S BUSmESS. 


“ I just couldn’t stand her, Madge, and I did not feel 
called on to tell her that Jack’s place of business was a 
saddler’s shop.” 

“ Of course not. That is certainly nobody’s business 
but his and ours.” 

’Smy opinion exactly. Then she said, that ‘ much 
as it pained her to undeceive me, she had come with the 
best intentions to perform a disagreeable duty, from 
which she should certainly not be deterred by a hasty 
rebuff on my part ; that, in view of my youth and igno- 
rance, she could readily forgive.’ I sighed resignedly and 
asked her ^please to let me hear the worst at once.’ 
Then she imformed me that ^ a reliable gentleman of her 
acquaintance had seen Jack at the cock-pit ! ’ ” 

What’s that ? ” I ask, wonderingly. 

Haven’t the slightest idea, and wouldn’t have asked 
her if I’d been dying to know. But it must be some- 
thing terrible or she wouldn’t have enjoyed telling me 
so.” 

“ Maybe he fell into it — you called it a pit.” 

“Perhaps; and the reliable gentleman helped him 
out. ^ That he had been seen participating in a street 
fight— had been seen coming out of the lowest sort of 


MRS. BLUXOM. 61 

a drinking saloon ! ’ and in fact, according to Mrs. 
Bluxom and her ^ reliable gentleman ’ — ” 

Who is, of course, none other than old Bluxom,” I 
fling in wrathfully. 

‘‘ Oiu' precious old Jack is on the railroad to ruin, and 
going at neckrbreak speed.” 

Of course you don’t believe a word of it, Smy,” I 
say, with tart decision. 

Of course not,” she answers, with equal decision. 

None the less a sombre silence falls between us, and an 
uneasy sensation takes possession of my soul (which, of 
course, was no part of Mrs. Bluxom’s best intentions). 

“ Jack was young, and he was of a gay inclination, 
and the seductions of the city were manifold — who 
knew ? ” 

Mrs. Bluxom had sown the wind — ^who was to reap 
the whirlwind ? 


62 


NOBODY^ a BUaiNESa. 


CHAPTEK VII. 

WAR OF THE ROSES. 

Women are funny creatures ! But to see the funny 
darlings at their very funniest, one must see them at a 
matinee. We went to one the very morning after Mrs. 
Bluxom’s visit. And the way we came to do it was 
this : An old schoolmate of Smy’s and mine had mar- 
ried some years before, and settled in ‘Hhe city’* 
(which means to all Louisianians, New Orleans), and 
she was always rushing in upon us at the most unex- 
pected moments, with projects for our ‘^amusement and 
instruction,'^^ she would saucily add. 

And would he told for her sauciness, that with two 
such instructresses as herself, and Mrs. Bluxom, we were 
in no danger of preserving our rustic innocence too long. 

Well, as I said, or was about to say, the morning 
after Mrs. Bluxom’s last assault Smy and I were linger- 
ing over the breakfast things in a decidedly blue frame 
of mind. 

We had tried valiantly to think nothing of what the 


WAR OF THE ROSES, 03 

doctor’s wife had said, but Jack himself had made our 
efforts of no avail, by looking so red and queer when 
his sister had asked him, with startling suddenness that 
morning, what a “ cock-pit was,” and had entered into 
such an elaboration of detail, as had fully convinced us 
that he knew whereof he spoke. 

So, of course, we felt blue, but we made no comment 
on it other than by an unusual heaviness of spirit and 
quietness of tongue. Upon our gloom, Julie Pemberton 
(that friend of ours) burst like a sunbeam, with Oh ! 
girls, I’ve got such a treat for you ! The Barber of Se- 
ville ! Dumestre as Figaro ! at the opera house this 
morning at eleven. You just must go with me ! ” 
Delicious ! ” cries Smy. 

But Jack ! He knows nothing about it,” 1 add. 

“Men, the right sort of men, that is,” says Julie, 
“ are not expected to know anything about matinees.” 

“Doesn’t Mr. Pemberton know you are going ” I 
ask. 

“Yes, he knows it, and that is all. If you’ve any 
wifely scruples about going without Mr. Walton’s knowl- 
edge, we can go by his office and let him know,” says 
my friend. 


64 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


‘No, that will not be necessary,” I say, adding, 
“ Smy, I really believe it will do us both good.” 

“I know it wilL I need it.” 

So we went. 

It was at the opera house. Everybody wanted to hear 
the “ Barber of Seville,” and hear that fascinating Mons. 
Dumestre as Figaro. And I wanted to hear the Bar- 
ber of Seville, and see that fascinating Mons. Dumestre 
too. For, as I belonged to the country, I never had 
heard the Barber of Seville, never had seen Dumestre, 
never had been to a matinee. I enjoyed the three sensa- 
tions in one on that occasion, and they came very near 
being my last sensations of any description in this vale 
of tears, for, that I am alive to tell the tale of that 
morning’s experience, I consider to be by a special and 
direct interposition of Providence. 

It was well for us that Julie, although country reared 
as well as we, had been in the city long enough to act 
as if to the manor born. She was a complete mistress 
of the grand art of “how-to-do -it.” I made her purse- 
bearer, feeling sneakily conscious beforehand that I 
should never be able to muster the necessary amount of 
cheek to thrust myself successfully upon the notice of 
the ticket man, for I don’t suppose, in country or in 


WAn OF THE HOSES, 


65 


city, there ever was a more pusillanimous creature than 
myself, when it comes to barter of any description. 
Why, I am afraid of the very cash boys in the stores, 
all of which, I suppose, comes from my unfortunate 
‘^country raising.” 

We must start early,” Julie had said, ^^in order to 
get a good seat.” 

But it seems as if the idea of starting early was by 
no means an original one with her, for although half 
past ten o’clock found us in front of the opera house, we 
were about the last of six hundred who had done as we 
had done — started early.” 

I was lost in admiring astonishment at the scientific 
manner in which Mrs. Pemberton (Julie), a fragile little 
scrap of a woman, wriggled her way through the appa- 
rently impenetrable masses of silk, barege and alpaca, 
through openings invisible to the naked eye, procured 
three tickets, and wriggled her way triumphantly back 
to where we meekly awaited her, on the outskirts of the 
crowd. 

For one mortal half hour we stood in front of those 
inhospitably closed doors. It is true the bills had ex- 
pressly stated, The doors would be open at eleven,” 
but then, you know, women have but foggy notions, at 


66 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS, 


the best, as to the value of time ; so with the precision 
which is so preeminently characteristic of the sex, we 
had all succeeded in getting there by ten, and considered 
ourselves much abused females because the appearance 
of the first ribbon had not acted as an open sesame, in- 
volving a total alteration of the programme. Well, 
thanks to the pushativeness of our city friend, we suc- 
ceeded in obtaining a precarious footing on the third 
step from the top of the broad fiight of stairs. 

Inch by inch we advanced, until I found myself 
sandwiched between a pretty little French lady on one 
side, redolent in patchouli and violet powder, and a 
buxom nursery maid on the other, who held in her arms 
a baby ! a cherub of some six months or so (the prop- 
erty of the French lady), who was making futile attempts 
to swallow its own fist and its mother’s portemonnaie, at 
the same time growing red with disappointment over 
its signal failure. 

To say that it was warm would be a milk-and-water 
expression, and 1 hate milk-and-water anything. It 
was hot ! fearfully and unmitigatedly hot. And such 
mitigation of our suffering as fanning might have af- 
forded, was denied us for the good reason that we were 
as powerless to use our hands as though we had been be- 


WAR OF TEE ROSES. 


67 


reft of those useful members. As well might a hand- 
cuffed convict undertake to dance the shawl dance, as 
any one attempt to fan under such circumstances. 

At this stage of the proceedings (if that can properly 
be called “ j)roceedings ” which does not proceed at all) 
Julie, acting up to her frequently avowed principle of 
pushing one’s own in the world,” recommenced that 
process of wriggling that had so excited my wondering 
admiration when she had gone for our tickets. And so 
successfully did she wriggle, that in the space of a min- 
ute, one precious minute, which I had foolishly wasted 
in an abortive attempt to raise my arm and open my 
fan, she had advanced about two yards ahead of me. 
Smy clinging to her arm fiercely, and the impenetrable 
phalanx of crinoline closing in behind them, I mourn- 
fully concluded that they were lost to me forever. 

Looking back over their shoulders, they airily beck- 
oned me to come on ! Kefinement of sarcasm ! Telling 
a woman to come on, when it is as much as she dare do 
to wink her eyelids for the jam. I sent a little plain- 
tive I can’t ” over the sea of intervening bonnets as the 
only response circumstances would permit me to make 
to their kind invitation. 

I tried to keep my eye fixed on a brilliant red rose in 


68 


NOBODY* S BUSINESS. 


Julie’s hat, for I knew if I lost sight of that I might as 
well give up my own ghost and my ghost of a chance of 
seeing Dumestre and the Barber of Seville. 

Don’t let them mash my baby to death, Mary,” 
screamed the top slice of my sandwich to the bottom. 

No’m, not if I can help it,” returned the bottom slice, 
in a voice curiously suggestive of suffocation in a feather 
bed. A gentle but irresistible swell of the tide had 
lifted us all on to our toe-tips, and excited the mother’s 
liveliest fears for her helpless offspring. 

^•'Will you please, miss,” she said, addressing her 
frightened self to my disgusted self, let me get next to 
my baby ? ” 

If I can, madame,” I gasped, making a desperate 
effort to unpinion myself. will give you my place,” 
she said. I gladly mounted one step as she receded one, 
and thus got a fraction nearer to my beacon, the crimson 
rose, that was bobbing at me so encouragingly from the 
triumphant head of my successful friend. 

My right-hand neighbor — in the exalted position to 
which I had been promoted by the maternal fears of the 
little French lady — was a very fat old lady, very fat in- 
deed ; I am sure (in stock parlance) she would have 
“ scaled ” two hundred, added to which she was lame ! 


WAR OF THE ROSES. 


69 


I felt sorry for that old lady, I did indeed. I wondered 
if she had no father or mother, or sister or brother, or 
great-grandchild, who had sufficient control over her to 
keep her at home. I felt sorry for her as she stood there 
puffing and panting and growing apopletic in the face ; 
I felt sorry for her when the great heads of perspiration 
came rolling down from her forehead over her poor red 
nose, unchecked by hand or handkerchief ; I felt sorry 
for her when she gave a frantic little jerk at my arm 
as the surging crowd nearly lifted her off her crippled 
feet ; but I felt sorrier than sorry for her when she 
looked at me so wistfully and said, in plaintive broken 
English, Meese, I ees getting so vera seeck at my sto- 
mick.” 

Madame,” I replied, sententiously, ^^so am I, and 
it would be a remarkable order of stomach that would 
not sicken under such circumstances. What nation un- 
der the face of the sun but the American nation would 
labor so hard in pursuit of pleasure ? ” but she either did 
not understand me, or was too sick to indulge in polemi- 
cal discussions, or she took my remarks as personal and 
offensive, for she relapsed into sullen silence and fell to 
sniffing at her vinaigrette. 

At last those cruel doors were opened ! With a base 


70 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


selfishness worthy of a regular city bred,” I deserted 
my fat old lame lady and made a wild rush for my per- 
fidious companionSj clutching frantically at an arm of 
each just as they reached the door. 

Then began a regular sauve qui pent ” scramble, 
a modern war of the roses ; white rose pushing red rose to 
the left, red rose whirling white rose to the right ; little 
dainty kid gloves doubled themselves up into Liliputian 
fists, and pitched ” insinuatingly into the backs of the 
defenceless front ranks. Pretty little children made bat- 
tering rams of their heads by way of promoting locomo- 
tion. Mothers screamed, My child I my child ! ” Chil- 
dren yelled, Mother ! mother ! ” One unfortunate, drop- 
ping her ticket and not daring to stoop to recover it, 
found solace in audible sobs. Another unfortunate 
stumbled and disappeared from mortal vision beneath a 
sea of rushing, crushing, scrambling, trampling, running^ 
jumping daintily booted little feet, whose owners were 
utterly oblivious of politeness, kindness, humanity, even 
ordinary decency in their determination to see Dumestre 
as Figaro. 

“ Talk of the refining infiuence of women upon men,” 
I gasped, as Julie forcibly squeezed me into one-quarter 
the space I usually occupy when seated. “ I begin to 


WAJi OF THE BOSES, 


71 


think it is pretty evenly balanced, for if ever I came in 
contact with a lot of charming savages, wlio needed 
somebody or something to make them behave themselves, 
it is the present assemblage. And all, forsooth, because 
there were no men about to condemn or laugh at 
them ! ” 

Julie only laughed, and wiping the moisture from 
her forehead, prepared to bring her lorgnette into posi- 
tion. 

If this is the way your city people play,’’ says Smy, 
with a tired inspiration, how I should hate to see you 
at work.” 

Have you ever been in the country in early spring 
time, when the peach orchards were in full bloom, 
with a million of black birds chattering in their branch- 
es ? If you have, it will not be necessary for me to tell 
you how things looked and sounded inside of that house 
up to the time the curtain rose. It would take too long 
to tell about the lady who went into hysterics on my 
right, or of the two dears who got into a violent quarrel 
on my left, and fought it out with waving opera glasses 
and furiously nodding plumes, because one dear got the 
seat the other dear wanted. Happily, music hath charms 


72 


NOBODTS BUSINESS. 


to soothe the savage breast, and with Dumestre’s appear- 
ance order reigned supreme. 

‘‘I hope you’re satisfied,” says Julie, at the close of 
the first act ; you disapprove so of purely feminine — ” 
' Scrougings,” Smy suggests. 

I have counted six of the restraining sex in the par- 
quette. And I can make out all of them but one. Who 
is that, I wonder ? ” She pointed to a certain corner, 
then handed me the lorgnette. I adjusted it and swept 
the crowd. 

There ! with his side face turned towards us, in close 
and earnest conversation with a female whose rich garb 
and charming hat was all I could see of was my 
husband! Jack! John! Mr. Walton! Oblivious 
of my presence, oblivious of Smy’s, apparently oblivious 
even of Dumestre, he bent his head toward his compan- 
ion and talked ! and talked ! and talked ! 

I was glad that J ulie’s slight acquaintance with him 
and defective eyesight had prevented her from recogniz- 
ing him at that distance. 


so DID Z>» 


73 


CHAPTER YIIL 

“ so DID I.” 

“ Madge ! ” says Eleanor to me, late the next day, I 
went down town to-day ! ” 

So did I,” I answered, with tightly compressed lips 
and moody eyes riveted to my work. 

mean way down town, as far as Jack’s.” 

“So did I.” 

“ And — I — w’ent to the saddler’s shop.” 

“So did I.” 

“ And — I — found J ack gone ! ” 

“ So did I.” 

“And I asked the man where he was.” 

“ So did I.” 

“ And he laughed and said, ^ Dog fight ’round the cor- 
ner, ’sposed he was there.’ ” 

“ He said, ‘ Man shot at Baker’s groggery, ’sposed he 
was there,’ when I asked him.” 

“ When were you there, Madge ? ” 

“ At eleven. And you ? ” 

“ At one.” 


74 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


We’vo gone into the detective business, haven’t we, 
Madge ? ” she says, with a sorry attempt at humor. 

It looks like it,” I answered, plying my brush with 
savage industry. 

On the best fellow in the world.” 

He used to be.” 

‘^But you don’t believe that John is really throwing 
himself away, Madge ? ” She asks the question in that 
assertive way that almost compels assent. 

‘‘ No. I suppose he is simply sowing his wild oats. 
They say every man has to make one crop in a life time. 
I only hope he won’t find it a more ruinous agricultural 
venture than sowing cotton on an overflowed planta- 
tion.” 

“What did you,drop Julie Pemberton’s glasses on the 
floor for yesterday, at the matinee ? ” 

“ To break them. But I had them mended this 
morning.” 

“ You didn’t want her to recognize Jack ? ” 

“Exactly.” 

“ Did you speak to him about being there ? ” 

“ Of course I did not. I never coax confidences from 
Mr. Walton. His communications must be spontaneous 
or they are valueless,” I answer with superb dignity. 


**80 DTD 75 

Margaret, ’smy opinion that wo hare let Mrs. 
Bluxom poison our minds against our precious Jack.” 

^^Jack lias dono it himself,” I say with trembling 
lips. No one but himself could make mo believe ill 
of him.” 

Then we both fell to crying in an aimless showery 
fashion that somehow or other made us feel better. 

We didn’t mean to discuss Jack any more that day, 
for not having quite made up our minds what to think, 
and not caring to m.ake him the subject of a systematic 
course of backbiting, we charitably dropped the veil of 
silence over his late mysterious performances. 

To all appearances we are the same three people that 
we have always been, as we sit down to dinner with 
Jack’s handsome face opposite me. But there is an im- 
palpable bending beneath invisible crosses. 

“ I’ve got something to read to you, girls,” says our 
straying sheep, as we draw in a circle about the centre 
table. That is the focus of our evening industries. And 
I secretly rejoice that my husband’s proposition to read 
aloud will obviate any necessity for converse, hypocriti- 
cal or otherwise. 

^‘It’s headed ‘The War of the Boses,’ he begins, 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


76 

then clears liis throat vigorously, blows his nose and 

reads : ^ ^ 

^ ‘ Half an inch, half an inch, 

Half an inch onward ; 
i * Up to the lobby steps 

Pushed the six hundred. 

Forward the bright brigade — 

Charge for the doors ! they said — 

Pnshed the six hundred. 

* Forward the bright brigade, 

Was there a woman stayed ? 

No, though the darlings knew 

Some one had stumbled. 

Their’s not to pause nor stop, 

Their’s not to help her up, 

Their’s but to rush or die. 

Pushed the six hundred. 

* Women to right of me. 

Women to left of me, 

Women in front of me. 

Oh ! how they scrambled ! 

Brushed onward, dame and belle ! 

Boldly they iDUshed, and well ! 

In through the doors at last. 

Into the o];)era house. 

Pushed the six hundred. 

* Wlien can their glory fade ? 

Oh ! the wild charge they made I 

I stood and w’ondered ! 

, Shocked at the charge they made, 

Blushed for the bright brigade. 

Pushing six hunderd I 


80 DID i: 


77 


“ That must have been written by some one who was 
at the opera matinee yesterday morning,” Smy says, sig- 
nificantly. 

And under the battery of four inquisitorial eyes, that 
husband of mine turned as red as a blood beet ! laughed 
a silly, mirthless laugh, said shouldn’t wonder ! ” and 
putting the parody back in his pocket, fell to making the 
most minute inquiries about our home life — Smy’s and 
mine. 

Didn’t we find it dull ? moping there all day, with- 
out anything to do. Were wo receiving many calls from 
our city neighbors ? How would it do for us to give a 
dinner, by way of assuring people of our desire to be 
sociable.” 

To all of which we answered somewhat at random, for 
I was thinking “ If there was nothing wrong about 
Jack’s visiting the opera house, why shouldn’t he have 
said he was there and saw the charge of the bright 
brigade.'^ And Smy told mo afterward, that she was 
thinking, if it wasn’t conscious guilt that produced that 
vivid beet red on Jack’s olive cheeks, what was it? 

So you see, thanks to Mrs. Bluxom, we were all at 
sixes and sevens ! 

With his usual impetuous imperativeness, Jack insist- 


78 


NOBODY BUSINESS. 


ed upon a day and a list of guests to be decided on for 
our dinner, a dinner that any d of malignant meaning 
will describe — disastrous, dreadful, dismal. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A DOG, A DINING, AND A DISASTER. 

The question of how to make a very new-fashioned 
spring polonaise out of a very old-fashioned overskirt 
was the next perplexity that chased contemplation of 
my husband’s sudden falling from grace from my sur- 
charged soul. 

For, of course, if I had to give that dinner I did not 
want to look like a dowd even in ray own house. And 
somehow or other, even saddles and photographs did 
not overburden us with ready cash. I had taken my 
old-fashioned skirt all to pieces in the cool sitting-room 
back of the parlor, and it was scattered in wild disarray 
over the fresh white matting that was my special pride 
and delight, for I had bought it with my own secret 
earnings. 

(Jack had stared and asked where it had come from 
when he fii-st saw it, and I had answered vaguely, Old 


A BOQ, A Dimm, AND A DISASTER. ' 79 

clothes/’ and as he knew that there was a species of 
metempsychosis perpetually going on with our old ha- 
biliments, Avhereby old dresses reappeared in the shape 
of butter dishes, and old shawls effloresced into fresh 
flowers for our hats, he accepted the fable and admired 
my matting.) Well, as I was about to say, I was rack- 
ing my brain over that dismembered garment, when all 
my brain work was set at naught by Jack’s sudden en- 
trance, closely followed by a great shaggy water dog. 

Oh ! John, John!” I screamed, “where did that 
ugly monster come from ? Please drive him out, he’s 
spoiling my matting terribly with his great dirty paws.” 

“ Ugly monster ! That’s all a woman knows about 
dogs,” says my husband, in tones of indignant reproach ; 
“ he’s a perfect beauty and cheap as dirt.” 

“ Cheap ! John, you didn’t buy that wretch ? ” 

“ Didn’t buy him ? Of course I did. You don’t 
think I stole him, do you ? ” 

“ Oh ! but John,” I continue (scorning to notice his 
last remark), “ what on earth do we want with a dog 
here ? ” 

“ Well, Maggie,” he answers, scratching his head 
furiously (as is his way when ideas do not seem to 
germinate with facility), “ I don’t know that we do ex- 


80 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


actly want a dog here, though the fellow I bought him 
of says he’s a splendid yard dog ; hut you know we’re 
both uncommonly fond of ducks, and I take it that when 
we go hack home it will be much cheaper for me to 
shoot my own ducks, and have this fellow to fetch them 
out, than to pay fifty cents apiece for every one we eat. 
And this dog was sold to me for a number one duck dog. 
It’s a setter, you know.” 

I suppose I ought ho have felt perfectly happy when 
informed that the beast was a setter,” for Jack deliv- 
ered the word as if it would prove a settler, but some- 
how it didn’t seem to make me feel a particle better. 

He’ll save his prico in one season,” continued 
J ohn, as if arguing a point with his own conscience. 

^^How much did it cost ? ” I ask, regarding the in- 
crease to our family with unfriendly eyes. 

Fifty dollars ! ” 

Fifty dollars ! ” I repeated his words with a scream 
and a gasp. “I wonder how many years it will take us 
to eat that dog’s worth of ducks ? ” 

Fifty dollars’ worth of ducks at fifty cents apiece is 
not such an unheard of quantity. Besides, we’ll have 
the ducks and the dog too, don’t you see ? ” says Jack. 

There was no gainsaying the correctness of his calcu- 


A DOG, A DINING, AND A DISASTER. 81 

lation, nor the fact that tha money was gone and the 
dog was bonght ; and if John would indulge in specula- 
tive economy I couldn’t help it, but how I did wish I 
could turn that dog into a black silk polonaise ! 

I sighed resignedly and fell to work again, while Jack 
(evidently stung into it by remorse) made unusual efforts 
to forward my preparations for that dinner. 

I was not quite sure what decided result would follow 
from that dinner, other than a sure deficit in our ready 
cash account. But Jack’s word was still law, and it had 
to be gone through with, 

(You see our idol was tottering on his pedestal, but 
not yet fallen.) 

One would have supposed from the plethora of sug- 
gestions caused by that dinner, that a Vanderbilt was 
about to entertain a Stewart. But I think Jack’s assi- 
duity was altogether the result of his dog purchase. 

The morning of onr dining did not find me in the 
very best of humors, for John had insisted that the 
Bluxoms should be invited, and as we could not tell 
him why we hated and despised ” Mrs. Bluxom, we 
had to consent. 

Jack had gone down town as usual, saying, Saddles 
must be stitched if the stars fall.” 


82 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS 


Smy was making some charlotte russe in the pantry, 
and I, with an old green veil tied over my head, was cir- 
culating about the premises freely, duster in hand, when 
a ring at the hell startled me ; it was so absurdly early 
for city people to bo coming. 

I cautiously opened the front window and peeped out. 

There stood a small boy with a chicken in his arms, 
a wild looking bird that turned its little black eyes 
about in the most inquisitive fashion. Opening the 
door to him I asked, wonderingly, ‘‘ What’s that ? ” 
Chicken cock, mum.” 

But who sent it ? ” 

Boss sent it, mum.” 

I took it from him, and going straight to where Smy 
was up to her ears in desert preparations, I said, Smy, 
look here ! Jack’s conscience is certainly lacerated by 
that dog business. He’s actually sent up a chicken to 
help out the dinner.” 

But it’s too late,” says Smy. 

Bather late ; but it would never do to hurt his feel- 
ings by not having it cooked. We can parboil it first, 
you know.” 

So it was consigned to the cook’s charge, with instruc- 
tion to parboil it first. 


A DOG, A DINING, AND A DISASTEB. 83 

I don’t think from the expression of my cook’s face, 
when she took the bird from my arms, that Jack’s pur- 
chaso in any way exalted him in her estimation, but she 
was too true an artiste to slight the poorest material, so 
that when, finally, we were all gathered around the table, 
I radiant, because my made-over silk was a grand suc- 
cess, and Jack radiant because the table really did look 
creditable, a most magnificently trussed fowl forming the 
crowning feature of the least. 

Jack smiled approvingly at me over its well stuffed 
proportions, and plunging the carving fork into it, the 
stuffing gushed in a savory stream through the opening, 
rising like incense toward our grateful nostrils. The 
carving knife followed the fork. Its motion was slow 
and labored. It dawned u|)fcon me that my magnificent 
trussed fowl was a magnificent fraud. It was tough, 
villainously tough. The exertion of reducing it to slices 
brought great beads upon poor Jack’s brow. 

My dear,” he said, with a feeble company smile, 

I am afraid your poultry was no fledgling.” 

‘‘I am afraid,” I answered (by way of joking the 
awkwardness of the situation away), ‘Hhat you sent it 
up rather late ; but as it was your first effort in the 


84 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


caterer’s line, I did not wish to discourage you by not 
doing our beet with it.” 

I sent it up ! I’ve sent no eating chickens to-day.” 

I really feel ashamed of Jack’s want of city polish, so 
I say, very blandly, You forget, John ! A small boy 
brought it just a little while after you went down town, 
and said you sent it.” 

With up-raised knife and fork, with pale face and eyes, 
full of horrified anticipations, my husband gasped. 

What did he look like ? ” 

The boy or the chicken, dear ? ” 

The chicken ! ” 

It was a great ugly spotted cock with its comb cut 
like a dandy, and I can’t imagine what possessed you to 
buy such an octogenarian for dinner.” 

My pea-soup ! my pea-soup ! ” Jack groaned, pallid 
with misery. 

‘^His pea-soup! his pea- sou p ! What does he 
mean ? ” I asked, vaguely addressing myself to our 
guests, in hopes of a solution. 

The ghost of a sardonic grin passed over John’s mis- 
erable face, as lie replied, with cutting irony, Nothing, 
my dear, e.xcept that you have boiled down twenty dol- 
lars into that indigestible mass. If that game-cock had 


A DOG, A Dimm, AND A DISASTER, S5 

not come to so untimely an end througli your ignorance, 
he would have been \vorth his weight in gold to me. It 
was the greatest bargain I ever made. I was going to 
send him down to the plantation and be the first one to 
introduce the most magnificent breed of poultry there ; 
but now — ” and he sighed as he smelled at the stuffing. 

I shall always feel grateful to bluff old Dr. Bluxom 
for the hearty, genuine, rollicking burst of laughter with 
which he broke the awful spell of silence that Jack’s bad 
manners had thrown upon the group. 

His example was contagious; he laughed until the 
tears streamed down his jolly red cheeks. Smy seconded 
his -efforts with might and main, Mrs. Bluxom smiled 
(with the best intentions), Julie Pemberton cackled like 
a school girl ; even her city-bred courtly husband joined 
the mirthful chorus with grave enjoyment, until finally 
Jack’s merry, irresistible, countrified roar rose above 
the hubbub, and napkins and handkerchiefs did double 
duty in wiping streaming eyes. 

In the midst of the hilarity our hired waiter, bending 
obsequiously over me, whispered, Shall I serve the 
wine, inaclame ? it has just arrived.” 

Wine ! ” I say, vaguely, for I hadn’t the slightest 
idea that any wine was contemplated at our feast, add- 


86 


NOBODY^ 8 BUSINESS, 


ing quickly, however, Certainly,” with the nonchalant 
air of one who never dined without a choice of wines 
upon the hoard. 

While that accomplished creature was placing glass- 
es before my guests, I was doing a sum in mental 
arithmetic that made my soul sink with apprehension ; 
adding to one fifty-dollar dog on*e twenty-dollar game- 
cock, and one wine bill, sum total unknown. We were 
ruined — we must go under — and all because Jack must 
try to do things as other people did. 

He had said nothing to me about wine. I didn’t 
know when it had come, or even what sort it was. I re- 
membered hearing a ring at the area gate after we sat 
down, but as the matter was in the hands of one of the 
most accomplished waiters, I was content to await the 
denouement. 

It came very speedily. 

Through the pantry door, hair on end, white and ter- 
ror-stricken, our accomplished waiter dashed back into 
the dining-room, and crouching beside Dr. Bluxom’s 
chair, moaned piteously, “I’ve got ’em again, Doctor, got 
’em again — the snakes ! the devils ! I didn’t know I 
was drunk ! ” 


A DOG, A DINING, AND A DISASTEB. 87 

Consternation seized the group. Jack rose in his 
wrath ; so did Dr. Bluxom. 

Yon scamp you ! ” the latter cried ; didn’t I tell you 
the last time I brought you through that if you didn’t 
stop drinking you’d have it again, and I’d let you alone 
next time ? ” 

“Indeed! indeed!” moaned the wretch, “I didn’t 
know I was drunk. Oh ! doctor! I didn’t, indeed ! ” 

But Jack cut short his appeal by a vigorous gripe 
upon his collar, and dragged the victim of delirium tre- 
mens (as was supposed) to the front door, assisted by 
a rear shove movement by Dr. Bluxom, which soon 
landed our accomplished assistant in the street, minus 
hat, coat and reputation. 

A shriek from Mrs. Bluxom diverted our attention 
from the ejected waiter to the doctor’s wife. 

She was clasping the sides of her skirts with clinched 
hands, and rending the air with her shrieks. “ A rat ! 
a rat ! ” she screamed, and darted straight for the pan- 
try door that the man had left open. 

Smy and I and J ulie Pemberton followed her, but by 
the time we got there she was dancing a war dance in 
the midst of my best crockery, and had grown altogether 
incoherent in her statements. In a minute Julie Pern- 


88 


NOBODY^ S BUSTJSTESa. 


berton also showed signs of lunacy, and gathering her 
skirts tightly about her little feet, sprang recklessly on 
to the table where Smy’s charlotte russe stood await- 
ing its debut, shrieking, Alligators ! alligators ! oh ! 
Mr. Pemberton, Dr. Bluxom, Mr. Walton ! for God’s 
sake, somebody, quick ! ” 

An open champagne basket, lined with wet moss, 
standing under a shelf, explained the mystery. Smy’s 
alligators had come while we were at dinner ! Tliey had 
been shipped in an old champagne basket for the bene- 
fit of a free circulation of air, packed in wet Spanish 
moss. The champagne basket had been supposed by 
our accomplished v/aiter to mean champagne. His 
terror on cutting the strings and liberating the unknown 
monsters had resulted as we have seen. 

Kejoicing in their freedom, the alligators were crawl- 
ing about on tours of investigation, and while all eyes 
had been riveted on the scene of the waiter’s ejectment, 
one of the reptiles had found its way under Mrs. Blux- 
om’s flounces (no doubt, with the best intentions in the 
world). Hence, excitement number three. 

A couple of pairs of tongs with which the gentlemen 
secured Smy’s ‘^pets,” and returned them to their bas- 
ket, a laughing explanation on that young lady’s part 


now soon WE ABE FOBGOT. 


89 


of how she did miss ihe dear old alligators so much, 
that she had determined to try to get them introduced 
into the zoological gardens ; that they had come while we 
were at dinner, and been mistaken for champagne bottles 
by the waiter,” once more restored an outward sem- 
blance of order. But — 

Beyond the fact that Mrs. Bluxom took mortal offence 
and declared it was all a “put up job on the part of 
those country creatures whom she did try so hard to 
civilize,” and never came near us after that day, I can- 
not say that any good result was ever apparent from 
that dinner ! 


CHAPTER X. 

“ HOW SOON WE ARE FORGOT ! ” 

Jack’s slouch hat and cutaway coat had barely dis- 
appeared from view the morning after our memorable 
dinner, when Smy sprang to her feet with sparkling 
eyes (radiant at the prospect of helping along once 
more), and said, Xow, I’m going straight to Dr. Wag- 
ner’s with my alligators ! I’ve engaged Bet’s husband 


90 


NOBODY’S BUSINESS, 


to carry tlie basket for me.” (Bet was our cook.) Then 
she ran off in great glee to equip for her walk. 

When she was ready to start she found me already 
equipped, standing in the front door, tying my hat- 
strings under my chin with an air of defiant determina- 
tion. 

Where might you be going, m’am ? ” she asked, 
with a pert drawl. 

“ I might be going to the moon — I am going to Dr. 
Wagner’s.” 

What for ? ” 

To chaperon you ; at least to reconnoitre before I 
allow you to enter into any sort of arrangement with 
that queer old man.” 

Queer old man ! Why, Madge, you know every- 
body we’ve asked about him says he is an eccentric sci- 
entific man, with a noble head and a noble heart for the 
right sort of people.” 

“Of course, you’re the right sort of people, Smy,” I 
answer; “nevertheless,! consider it to be my duty to 
chaperon you on this occasion.” 

“ You absurd thing. . Do you forget I’m your senior 
by four years ? ” 


SOOIT WE ABE FOBGOT:^ 91 

“ A married woman is every unmarried woman’s sen- 
ior,” I say, with dignity ; so no more at present.” 

I was glad afterwards, for my own sake as well as 
Smy’s, that I had gone. My visit to old Dr. Wagner’s, 
on that sweet fresh spring morning is stamped upon 
my memory like a rare old cameo in strong relief. 

Accompanied by Bet’s husband, the champagne bas- 
ket and the alligators, we proceeded to the fine old man- 
sion that Smy had so unceremoniously invaded on her 
first visit. 

We rang decorously this time, and were admitted 
decorously by a reverend looking man-servant who, from 
his devout visage and speckless suit of black, might 
readily have been mistaken for a theological student. 

“Dr. Wagner would be in presently; would the la- 
dies please be seated ? ” 

He seated us and left us, and Smy designated the 
different points of interest about the queer old room 
with the point of her parasol, to beguile our loneliness. 

It was all very grand, gloomy and peculiar, but I 
got tired presently of staring at the dusty old books, 
and the jars of creeping things, and was seriously medi- 
tating advising a retreat, when the back door to the 
room was opened, and in came Smy’s doctor, leaning on 


92 


KOBODT'S BUSINESS. 


tho arm of a little old lady, so dainty and white and 
refined looking that she might have stepped out of a last 
century’s portrait frame. 

She greeted us with the softest little smile, and bend- 
ing slightly toward the ear-trumpet which her husband 
held up ill an inquiring position, said quietly, Two 
young ladies, husband, to see you, I guess ? ” 

Smy then advanced and said through the trumpet, 
I’ve come, sir !” 

You’ve come ! So I see ! But who are you, and 
what did you come for ? and who’s she ? and what did 
she come for ? ” he growled, like an enraged old bear. 

Be patient with him, dears, please,” said the patient 
little wife by his side ; he's been terribly put out this 
morning ; but you know 'men of genius must be allowed 
their eccentricities ” (this with a little air of pride be- 
coming the consort of such a genius). 

But Smy’s reply smacked more of impudence than 
patience. I’ve come because you told me to, sir, and 
she’s come because she chose to come with me. I’m the 
alligator girl. How soon we are ^ forgot ! ’ ” she added, 
turning with comic distress to mo. 

The alligator girl I Bless nfy soul ! ” and down 
went the trumpet on the fioor, as he held out both 


“J/OTT SOUJSr WE ARE FORQOTA* 93 

hands in rapturous greeting, one to Smy and one to me. 

And have the alligators come too ? ” 

^^Here they are, sir. Didn’t I tell you I’d have them 
here within a month ? ” 

“ Of course you did ; hut what did that amount to ? 
Don’t people tell me things and promise me things 
every hour of the day, that never come to anything ? ” 

City peoj)le, maybe, but not country folks.” 

Yes, yes,” he said, you’re right ; stand up for the 
country. God made the country and the devil made the 
towns. Wife ! here’s a greater curiosity than the alli- 
gators — a girl that can keep a promise and write a de- 
cent hand.” 

My dear,” says the doctor’s wife, gratefully extend- 
ing towards Smy an exquisite bunch of heliotrope, 
mignonette, white rose-buds and geranium leaves she 
had been holding all this while in her small withered 
white hand, ‘^you have made my dear husband smile 
for the first time in weeks. I thank you for it. Your 
merry saucy ways do him good. People generally are 
so afraid of him that he sees only their worst and stu- 
pidest side. Don’t you be afraid of him, his heart is as 
gentle as a lamb.” 

What’s she saying about me ? ” growled the doctor ; 


94 


NOBODY* 8 BUSINESS. 


she’s always taking advantage of my deafness to back- 
bite me.” 

She was just telling me that stupid timid people 
held to the notion that you indulged secretly in cannibal 
practices and devoured people who offended you, but 1 
hope before I offend you, you will have acquired such a 
fondness for an unmixed alligator diet, that I will prove 
no temptation to you personally,” says little Dauntless 
(which was another of Smy’s pet names). 

A dry chuckle and a volcanic heaving of the old 
doctor’s broad chest testified to his appreciation of the 
retort. 

“ When are you going back to the country ? ” he 
asked, presently. I want you to go back before you’re 
spoiled.” 

Oh ! not for a long time I’m afraid,” says Smy, 
sadly. We’re poor, desperately poor ; don’t you re- 
member I told you 1 was looking for something to do ? 
I want to help my brother. He’s a broken up or a bro- 
ken down Southern planter ; that’s his wife, and he’s 
gone to stitching saddles for a living. I promised to 
bring you some alligators and you promised to help 
me keep my head above water. I’ve kept my promise.” 

And we’ll keep ours, wife, wont we ? ” he said. 


SOOJ^ WB ABB FORGOT,^' 95 

stoopin;^ with boyish delight to peep at the imprisoned 
alligators ; we’re going to make her our little secretary, 
aren’t wc ? ” 

He was in high good humor now, and his inward con- 
tent was reflected in mild rays of satisfaction from the 
gentle blue eyes of his consort as she answered, “ I hope 
we can, dears (addressing her remarks to us both), he 
has been so annoyed and inconvenienced by the irregu- 
larities of the young men ho has tried, that he declared 
he would never have another secretar3^ But the other 
day, after you, dear (nodding to Siny) left, he showed 
me your pretty handwriting, and said if he could get a 
secretary to write like that for him he would pay her 
fifty dollars a month, to assist him from ten until two 
o’clock every day.” 

‘^What does' she say, wife ? ” asks the doctor, who, 
with the assistance of the reverend man-servant, was 
bustling about with his alligators. 

“ What shall I tell him, my dear ? ” 

“What do you say, Maggie ? ” 

“ I think it a good thing.” 

“ How do I know he wont fall out with me as he did 
with the others ? ” asks Smy. 

“ The others were young men, dear,” says the little 


96 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS, 


old lady, demurely, too mucli given to the vices of their 
sex and their age to conform to the doctor’s (perhaps) 
rigid requirements. All hut dear Jamie, and there even 
I cannot hold my husband blameless.” 

“ What did dear Jamie do ? ” asks Smy, eagerly. 

“ He only smoked. But he was a splendid fellow, my 
own nephew, and I rather believe the doctor himself 
regrets his own conduct towards him.” 

She’s telling you about Jamie,” says the doctor, who 
seemed to be able to understand his wife simply from the 
motion of her lips. 

‘‘ Yes ! ” Smy nodded to him. 

But you ? are you going to be my little right-hand 
man or not ? I want you, child ! It will be like a sun- 
beam let into a graveyard, wont it wife ? Make her 
say ^ yes.’” 

“ Say ^ yes,’ dear.” It is impossible to describe the 
softness of that ancient dame’s voice, eyes and manners. 

Smy marched up to the doctor and presented his 
trumpet in a challenging fashion. 

He took it with an indulgent smile and bent his mag- 
nificent head to hear what she had to say. 

“ I’d like to say ^ yes,’ but I’m afraid. Supposing 
you get cross with me, and frighten me so I can’t write. 


'*HOW SOON WE ARE FORGOT.'' 97 

And suppose ‘dear Jamie’ comes back repentant and 
wants Ills place again. • He didn’t do anything but 
smoke, and I wouldn’t give a fig for a man who couldn’t 
stand a good cigar.” 

“ He’ll never come back,” says , the old man, sadly ; 
“he’s proud as Lucifer, and I made him mad, didn’t I, 
wife ? ” 

“Jamie’s hot tempered but not sulky,” she said, 
cheerfully. “He’s out of town just now, but I know 
he’ll come right hero as soon as he gets back.” 

“In the country,” says Smy, roguishly, “since ‘free- 
dom’ (as the darkies call it) we are in the habit of 
wasting a great deal of time and paper making con- 
tracts with the freedmen at the beginnnig of each 
crop year. The contract doesn’t in the least bind 
anybody ; but it makes the freedman feel better to be 
able to say that ‘ worn’t in de contrac.’ How, if I’m 
to be your secretary, you’re to sign a contract not 
‘ to frighten, scold, scare or otherwise intimidate me,’ 
the party of the second part, and I will sign a contract 
‘ to do good and cheerful service for you,’ the party of 
the first part.” 

“ What do you call that sprite ? ” says the old doctor, 


98 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


addressing me individually for the first time, then his 
eyes quickly reverted to Smy’s. lovely saucy face. 

“We call her all sorts of things,” I answered. “ Elean- 
or, Sunbeam, Smy, Little Dauntless, Miss Independ- 
ence, etc. But her sponsors in baptism called her 
Eleanor Walton.” 

“ Oh ! Madge ! my sponsors had nothing whatever to 
do with the ^ Walton.’” 

“ Little Dauntless,” the old man said, softly, “ I like 
that best. May I call you Little Dauntless, child ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” says Smy, as simply as a little child. 

“ And you’ll come and write for me every day from 
ten until two ? ” 

“Yes, sir, unless — ” 

“Unless what ? ” 

“ Unless your nephew should want his place back.” 

“ Never mind my nephew ; we’ll take care of him, 
wont wo, wife ? ” 

“ Yes,” purred the little lady, “ we’ll always take care 
of dear Jamie.” 

“ Then I’m your secretary. Dr. Wagner,” and Smy 
puts her little hand into the doctor’s great shaggy paw, 
by way of sealing their contract. 

“ I always made it a rule to see that the doctor’s sec- 


IITVISIBLE CROSSES. 


99 


retarics had their lunch with me, dears, before going 
down town again. I always fancied I might ho doing a 
little towards keeping them out of temptation that way. 
Luncheon is ready now, I expect. You, my dears, must 
stay and have a dish of early strawberries with us,” says 
Mrs. Wagner, v/ith charming naivete. 

Smy smiled demurely at the idea of keeping us out 
of temptation, but we did not refuse those early straw- 
berries. 


CHAPTER XL 

INVISIBLE CROSSES. 

“’Smy opinion that ‘ there is something rotten in the 
state of Denmark.’ Here, just as my secretaryship, and 
your colorship, and Jack’s saddlership are beginning to 
make us so easy financially, that we need not faint at 
the prospect of having to tell Jack the flour barrel is 
empty, nor lie awake of nights trembling in anticipation 
of a morning call from the gas man, we all begin to 
mope like three sick owls. Perhaps we’re not religious 
enough, and our consciences are sufiering from a sort 
of irruption that will come to the surface presently like 


100 


irOBODT'S DlTSmESS. 


a kind of moral measles,” says Smy, one lovely Sunday 
morn mg in that sweet spring time. 

iMonsensically as she put it, there was a germ of sad 
truth in her assertion. 

Jack’s conduct had become more and more incompre- 
hensible, his arrivals and departures from home were 
altogether erratic and scornfully contemptuous of fixed 
hours. Added to which, in the last few days a strange 
moroseness seemed to have taken j)ossession of him and 
an irritability (altogether foreign to his bright easy na- 
ture), which (most strange of all) seemed to seek a vent 
upon me, me exclusively — his doating wife, who had 
never willingly crossed him since the hour when she had 
gladly promised to love him and obey him until death 
did them part. He would treat Smy with all the old 
brotherly kindness in his very darkest moods, and turn 
upon me with a sort of repressed savagery that was as 
amazing as it was hard to bear. 

So, of course I moped, and he moped, and Smy moped, 
because the dear thing suffered as much for me as she 
could have done for herself. 

The church bells were ringing their solemn invitations 
to worship from every steeple in the city, groups of pret- 
tily dressed children clattered by on their way to ‘‘Old 


INVISIBLE CROSSES, 


101 


Trinity.” A slow Lufc steady stream of churcli goers 
filed past in Sunday dress and Sunday mien, but still 
Jack paced moodily up and down on the sidewalk in 
front of our door, smoking liis cigar with gloomy disre- 
gard of the day or its requirements, while Smy and I 
listlessly wondered what we had best do with the long 
dull hours of our idleness. 

Living all our lives on a plantation, where the occa- 
sional visitation of a minister was all we knew of divine 
privileges, had made us too indifferent, maybe, to the 
opportunities for church going which we now possessed. 

Let’s go to church,” says Smy. , 

Well, but Jack ? ” 

We’ll take him and calling to him eagerly, she 
asked him coaxingly to take us to church.” Some- 
what to my surprise, ho consented, saying, as he passed 
me on his way to get ready, that he thought some of 
us were sadly in need of prayer and exhortation.” So 
we went. 

As Avo passed up the softly carpeted aisle, in the 
midst of a solemn hush, the last notes of the organ pre- 
lude still cpiivcring on the scented air, my soul was at- 
tuned to liie Avorship of God in all humility, and Avhen 
in the progress of the incomparably beautiful Episcopal 


102 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


service the choir intoned the solemn response, “ Lord have 
mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law,-^ 
I knew that my heart was full of good and holy desires 
to keep Ilis laws, and I believe that dear Smy’s and 
poor Jack’s were too, for the peace that passeth all un- 
derstanding seemed to have smoothed the furrows from 
their brows and left them in a placidly receptive frame 
of mind. 

(If only that service could stand upon its own grand 
merits ! If only after it has wrought poor, miserable 
sinners into a state of exaltation that borders on the 
sublime of self-knowledge, the services of tlie day” 
could bo pronounced comj)lete, and they could steal 
away to their closets humbled by the reminder that 
there is no health in them,” fresh from the petition 
that He would incline their hearts to keep Ilis laws,” 
softened by the fellowship of “humble and contrite 
hearts,” what an ineffable boon the world would find it.) 
But after the last tremulous wail of the organ had died 
in space, after the last silken rustle had subsided, the 
minister arose, and informing us twice, slowly and im- 
pressively (for not to be able to tell the text when you 
get home is the unpardonable sin in well regulated 
families), “that liis text could be found in 2 Chronicles 


INVISIBLE CROSSES, 


103 


XXXV. 9,” lie furtliermore informed us that Cononiah 
also, and Shemaiah and Nethaneel, his brethren, and 
Hashabiah and Jeicl, and Jozabad, chief of the Levites, 
gave unto the Levites for passovcr offerings, five thou- 
sand small cattle and five hundred oxen,” which ruined 
me for the day. All my tender reveries, all my com- 
munings with my conscience, all my desire for a more 
rigid self-examination were engulfed in a sea of weari- 
ness as I yawned through that prosy marplot of a 
sermon. 

“ What did you think of the sermon ? ” Smy asks, 
addressing herself to J ack, as we walk homeward. 

“ Beastly ! ” 

‘‘ Oh, John ! ” 

“Wasn’t it all about calves and cows and aren’t 
they beasts ? At least I suppose he meant calves by 
small cattle.” 

“I wonder,” I say, “why ministers will persist in 
hurling dreary abstractions at us ? Why couldn’t he 
have preached a warm, loving, living appeal to our na- 
tures, to strengthen us in all good and warn us off rocks 
of evil ? ” for I hoped that Jack’s secret vices might 
have been pinched by the preacher. 

“ I'm ashamed to say,” says Smy, “ that I found my- 


104 


NOBODY* S BUSINESS, 


self thinking of those Alderneys Mr. Stedman wrote 
about last week.’’ 

But Jack said nothing, although we had no reason to 
believe that he had derived any benefit from learning 
how many small cattle and oxen Jozabad gave unto the 
Levites. 

Whenever things got out of gear with us at hom.e it 
was Smy who promptly assumed the role of adjuster and 
universal rectifier, and just now she wore the air of a sur- 
geon who has to probe for the diseased spot before he 
can apply liis cure. 

The heaviness of a warm Sunday afternoon was upon 
us. We always had a slight and early dinner on that 
da}*, for, although not really good, religious folks, we 
laid claim to a certain kindliness of disposition that in- 
clined us towards making Betsy’s duties as light and her 
“ Sunday outing ” as long as possible. We had watched 
her go through the area gate, rigid in her ‘^Sunday 
bests,” her honest face shining with soap and pleasure, 
and had turned our attention towards that object of love 
and anxiety. Jack ! 

He had stretched himself at full length on the sitting- 
room sofa and spread his handkerchief over his face, and 
gone to sleep. The streets looked lonely and deserted 


IJSrVISIBLE CROSSES. 


105 

You could hear a footfall and the click of a cane a lon^ 
way off. The flies that crept stealthily over the window 
panes buzzed with Sabbath-day distinctness, I was 
halting between a commendable mental drift towards 
Clarke's Commentaries ” and a sinful desire to finish 
Middlemarch.’^ 

Clarke’s Commentaries” I felt to he the correct 
thing ; Middlemarch ” I knew to be the most desirable 
thing. Smy cut the gordian knot of my scruples with, 
Madge, may I read out loud to you ? I’ve just found 
something that pleases me so much ! ” 

What in ? ” 

The Sunday Times. It is called ^Invisible Crosses/ 
and is real good Sunday reading.” 

Very well,” I say. ‘‘ I was thinking of ^ Clarke’s 
Commentaries,’ but one thing is as good as another to 
put one to sleep.” 

Small encouragement, but if I waited for great en- 
couragement how weary I should be,” says my sister-in- 
law, and then she read : 

‘ Footsore and wayworn, a pilgrim paused on his 
journey, for the heat and burden of the day were heavy 
upon him, and he would fain find temporary rest for his 
jaded body and weary soul. He threw himself down on 


106 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


the road-side with a gesture of impatient despair, as if 
he would thereby make one more struggle to free his 
stooping shoulders from the burden of a cross, invisible 
to other eyes, whose leaden weight was galling his worn 
flesh beyond the limits of finite endurance. 

“ ‘ Dreary was the road by which he had travelled ; 
dreary was the spot whereon he had selected to rest ; 
dreary was the prospect looming up before him. Hot 
and white and dry stretched the road, gleaming like the 
sands of the desert under a sun that burned in fiery 
wrath rather than genial warmth. No flowers grew in 
this unfriendly soil ; naught but sharp thorns and sting- 
ing nettles flourished thereon, for this Avas SorroAv’s 
higliAvay, and nothing that Avas young or bright or fresh 
or beautiful found a place there. All the wayfarers 
upon this road Avere pilgrims, care-worn and heavy bur- 
dened, bending beneath the- weight of ^heavy crosses ; 
crosses that they Avere doomed to bear until a pitying 
Father should deem fit to grant them rest Avithin the 
friendly portals of the tomb.’ ” 

Here, for some reason, Smy found it necessary to say 
to me, in a very emphatic voice, keeping her place with 
her finger and looking reproachful daggers at me, ‘’It is 
an allegory, Madge, and one with a splendid moral, too.” 


INVISIBLE CROSSES. 


107 


“ Beautiful !” I say with sleepy acquiescence, and once 
more resume the comfortable posture she had startled 
me out of. 

‘ As Pilgrim lay prone upon the road-side, gazing 
idly backward ’ — Mag, are you listening ? ” 

Very. Go — on.” 

“ ‘ On the pathway he had traversed, he saw that it 
was — the cross of distrust — if one has a cross to bear 
through life, let him bear it bravely — He gave his angels 
charge concerning me — Hay, brother, speak not so ’ — ” 

“ Did Jack speak ? ” I ask, starting bolt upright, and 
staring at Smy with eyes defiantly stretched, as if daring 
her to assert that they had slumbered or slept. 

She scorned to notice my weak subterfuge, but read on 
determinedly : 

‘ I journey toward the River of Life. Its bright 
waters fl.ow peacefully on beyond yonder dark and som- 
bre wood ; and when I reach that happy shore I will 
lave me in its pure waters, and enter into rest eternal. 
Then Pilgrim, gathering up his scrip and his staff, 
started once more upon his journey, saying within him- 
self, ‘This, then, is the true way to bear life’s cross. I 
will keep in view this gentle guide, and mayhap by fol- 
lowing closely in her brave, patient footsteps I too may 


108 


NOBODY^ S BUSINESS. 


come to see the gates ajar — I too may lave me in the 
waters of the River of Life.’ ” 

Beautiful ! ” I exclaim with wide-awake enthusiasm, 
but slightly disconnected in parts, was it not ? ” 

“ You will find the missing links in dreamland,” says 
Smy, with cutting sarcasm, as she folds up her paper 
and j)Uts Pilgrim into the table-drawer. 

And to this day she persists in saying that all I ever 
heard of tho allegory called Invisible Crosses” was 
what I caught between snores. 

Snore, indeed. If I thought I ever had snored, or 
ever could snore, I could never look Jack in the fj,ce 
again. 


CHAPTER XII. 

OUR COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

Soon after this something happened which jarred my 
nerves so painfully at the time, that if it had not been 
for Smy’s inveterate habit of confiding the day’s doings 
to a diary every night before retiring, our comedy of er- 
rors (as we now call it) would never have been preserved 
in its full proportions of tragic absurdit3^ 


OUE COMEDY OF EEROES. 


109 


With Smy’s permission, I will give lier own version 
of that aliixir, just to show you what an amount of mis- 
ery can be manufactured out of notliing by an active 
imagination. 

May 16, 1870. 

This has been a day of horrors ! But, as ^ all is 
well that ends well,’ I can tell about it in a tolera- 
bly placid frame of mind. Though to you, my diary, 1 
will confess that anger against Jack, dear, stu[)id, 
half-killed Jack, and admiration for the manly conduct, 
superb figure, and splendid eyes of Mr. James Cuthbert 
(Mrs. Wagner’s ^ dear Jamie ’), arc still making a lively 
commotion somewhere within my anatomy, whether in 
head, or heart, or both, is ^nobody’s business.’ 

“ Well, to begin at the beginning (which Madge, poor 
dear, precious, says I never do), I was sitting quietly at 
at my desk in Dr. Wagner’s office, copying pages of 
what he calls writing, but which I tell him are the foot- 
tracks of the ghosts of murdered reptiles and alligators 
sacrificed by him on the altar of science, when the quiet 
of tho room was broken by a hasty ringing footfall 
altogether unfamiliar to mo, but which made my old 
doctor’s face fairly glow with pleasure. 

“ ^ Ah ! boy, you’re back, are you ? ’ ” he said, in such 
a glad, glad voice. 


110 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


“‘Yes, sir,’ I heard somebody answer, in a voice that 
seemed shaken by haste or agitation; then after wring- 
ing Dr. Wagner’s hand warmly he said, ‘ As usual, un- 
cle, I’ve come to you with a petition, but not for my- 
self this time. I got back to the city yesterday morning, 
and intended coming straightway to you and aunt — ’ 
Here my heart gave a great thump, for this tlicn was 
the Jamie who had j)robably come back to rob mo of 
my cozy place. I stole a look at him. He didn’t in the 
least look like a robber ; he was a tall, broad-shouldered, 
bearded young man, with a fascinating smile and such a 
glorious pair of brown eyes.) 

— ^ but was prevented by the most remarkable occur- 
rence. Of course I went to my old rooms ; had scarcely 
been there half an hour — not long enough to take a bath 
and freshen up a little from my journey — when a card 
was brought to my room with a name scrawled on it in 
pencil marks, and a request for a private interview. I 
told the waiter to show the gentleman to my room. Ho 
came back almost immediately, and at his heels strode a 
man about my own age. A tall splendid young savage, 
who marched up to nje without a word of preparation 
and accused me in the fiercest manner of having staid 
out of town to avoid him. I took the liberty of telling 


OUn COMEDY OF EBBOES. m 

him ho was cither a fool or a madman, that as I had 
never seen him before, and could not even now say what 
his name was, it was hardly likely I had any cause for 
avoiding him. Upon which he thrust a photograph 
under my nose and asked me if that ^ was my picture ? ’ 
I told him it undoubtedly was, and asked to know how 
he came in possession of it. My question seemed to 
arouse him to a perfect frenzy of insane rage. He tore 
the picture to ribbons, and striding towards me drew his 
glove most insultingly across my face. I’ve only bored 
you with this much to show you that it was utterly im- 
possible to get rid of the fellow without promising him 
‘ satisfaction.’ I gave it to him this morning in the shape 
of a broken arm. I purposely aimed at the hand that had 
so causelessly insulted me. I did everythinj^ in a man’s 
power to convince him that he had nothing against me ; 
but for every word 1 spoke I received a fresh insult.’ 

‘‘Here Dr. Wagner interrupted him with an impa- 
tient ^ Well, what have I got to do with all your boy’s 
nonsense ? You say you haven’t hurt the fool.’ 

‘ No, sir ; but I verily believe that man is a lunatic, 
and I reproach myself with permitting myself to meet 
him. I wish you would go to see him for me, uncle ; I 


112 


NOBODY BUSINESS. 


would thank you so much. I’ve since heard he has a 
lovely young wife.’ 

But the devil and Tom Walker! You say you 
don’t even know the the idiot’s narue I ’ 

^^^I’vc found that out too. It is Walton, John 
something or other Walton. He’s recently from the 
country.’ 

‘^Up to that moment he had no suspicions of my 
presence, for the doctor’s jars and hooks and things com- 
pletely hid me from view. But then I darted at him in 
a tigerish way, screaming ^ It’s my brother ! my brother ! 
my poor, dear, precious Jack that you’ve killed I ’ 

He started with a frightened look, raised his hat and 
said, in the gentlest voice, ‘Best easy, young lady, your 
brother is not in the slightest danger. He will only 
suffer a little while, and be confined to his room long 
enough to reflect on his own remarkable conduct. I as- 
sure you he forc(‘d this thing upon me. But to find he 
is your brother makes the whole matter more than ever 
to be regretted.’ 

“ ‘ If it’s Little Dauntless’s brother I’ll take time to 
see him,’ said my dear old doctor, bustling around for 
his hat and cane. ‘ But you’ve got to come too, sir ; I’m 
going to see you two young fools through with it.’ 


OUR COMEDY OF ERRORS, 


113 


“ So calling a hack, Mr. Cutlibert put me and his uncle 
into it, and first asking me if it was my wish that he 
should accompany us, then got in and gave the man my 
directions for finding our house. 

I told him that I wanted him to go with us, for 
there was certainly some strange misunderstanding in 
the matter that could not he cleared up without him.) 

Of course we found everything in confusion at home. 
Dr. Bluxom was there and the scatter-brains who had 
acted as Jack’s second. We found Madge, pale, white 
and quiet, sitting alone in the sitting-room. 

‘‘ ‘ He is losing his mind, Sm.y,’ she said, when I’d got 
my arms around her neck; Mie wont let me come near 
him.’ 

^ Doubt it he had any to lose,’ said old Dr. Wagner, 
which was the first Madge knew of his presence. She 
flushed angrily, and turning upon him she was covered 
with confusion when she saw Mr. Cutlibert standing 
there, looking so wretched, so handsome, and so manly. 

“ ‘ Madame,’ he said, coming bravely forward and 
standing before poor little Maggie with his bare head 
bowed humbly, am the unhappy instrument of your 
present suffering. God knows that I have never injured 
your husband before this morning, by word, thought, or 


114 


NOBODY^ 8 BUSINESa. 


deed. He forced me into this thing. Physically his 
injuries amount to nothing. My uncle has come to see 
if his great professional knowledge can avail aught in 
case your fears of his sanity, which I confess to sharing, 
should prove correct. Will you take him to your hus- 
band ? And will you tell me that you pardon me for 
my share in this miserable business ? ’ 

Politeness required that Madge should look at him to 
reply. Suddenly I saw her face light up as if she had 
found something she had long been searching for in vain. 
Her eyes seemed glued to the handsome, embarrassed 
face before her. Suddenly she asked, ‘ Sir, have you 
bad any pictures taken by Cassoni lately ? ’ 

^ I have, madame.’ 

^ And colored ? ’ 

^ And colored.’ 

“ ^ Have you received them ? ’ 

“ ^ All but one. He wrote me one had been lost, and 
would have to be replaced,’ 

‘ Oh ! you stupid, stupid Jack, how could you — how 
dared you think such a thing of me Maggie moaned, 
covering her red-hot face with her poor little trembling 
hands. 

“ ‘ I know what she means,’ I cried, jumping up in a 


OUR COMEDY OF ERRORS. 


115 


regular eureka excitement. ‘ Maggie and I have beeu 
trying to help that stupid hoy up-stairs without his 
, knowledge. She colored photographs, and I wrote for 
the dearest old Dr. Wagner in the world. I remember 
now hearing her complain that a photograph she had 
left in her desk while she went down stairs to see a 
visitor had mysteriously disappeared, and she would 
have to make it good to Cassoni. She never told me 
what the picture was like, for of course Cassoni’s pic- 
tures were to her just so many eyes, noses and cheeks, to 
have so much blue, brown, or red laid on at so much a 
daub. But I solemnly believe that Jack is the thief 
who stole that photograph, and then had to hunt up the 
original to insult him. The idea of his daring to think 
wrong of Madge. And you ! What do you — what can 
you — what will you think of the whole Walton fam- 
ily ? ’ I asked, turning suddenly upon Mr. Cuthbert. 

‘I shall reserve the privilege of answering that ques- 
tion at some future day,’ he answered, with a quiet 
smile. ‘ In the meantime I should like very much to 
have my uncle see Mr. Walton.’ 

“ ‘ Come, Little Dauntless, let’s hunt this trigger-man 
up. G-enuine specimens of your Southern chivalry are 
becoming so rare that in case Jamie’s hurt him worse 


116 


NOBOD Y^S BUSINESS. 


than lie thinks for I’ll spare no expense to preserve him 
in spirits of lirst proof,’ with which the heartless old Dr. 
Wagner shuffled up-stairs, trumpet in hand, chuckling 
over his own monstrous joke, or something else.” 


CHAPTER XIIL 

CASTING OUT DEVILS. 

Not the sort of devils that entered into that unoffend- 
ing herd of scriptural swine, and caused them to run 
violently down a steep place into the sea and perish in 
its waters, but the devils of distrust, and suspicion, and 
gloom, and all uncharitableness that Jack and I were 
possessed of. 

It was no more possible for me to sit still down stairs, 
talking polite commonplace with Dr. Wagner’s nephew, 
while Smy and the doctor were up-stairs torturing that 
poor husband of mine, than it would have been possi- 
ble for Mrs. Bluxom to mind her own business. 

Mr. Cuthbert had made a motion to leave when the 
others had gone up-stairs, but I had detained him, 
knowing full well that when everything was explained 


CA8TIN0 0 UT DEVILS. 1 17 

Jack would know no rest until he had apologized in per- 
son to his late antagonist. 

But I wanted to be in at the casting out of the devils 
that liad come so near making an end of our domes- 
tic felicity, so I asked Mr. Cuthbert if he would mind 
if I went up stairs too, and as he said “he shouldn’t 
in the least mind,” and smiled into my anxious face 
with that gravely appreciative smile of his, and I knew 
that ho knew just exactly how I felt. 

{En passantj wouldn't it be delightful if Jack’s stu- 
pidity should bo the means of bringing such a man 
wdthin scope of our darling Eleanor’s fascinations. 
Mercy ! I believe I’m making a gun-shot wound in my 
husband’s arm occasion for congratulation ! From all 
evil and sinful desires good Lord deliver us.) 

As I reached my room door I heard Dr. Wagner say, 
magisterially, “ Your wound, as you’re pleased to call it, 
sir, is nothing but a pin scratch ; won’t keep you in the 
house, sir, long enough to teach you a little sense. 
Ought to be indicted for larceny, sir ! Yes, larceny ! 
Needn’t stare at me that way ! You’ve been stealing ! 
Yes, sir, stealing, and your rascalities are at the bottom 
of all this muddle I Ought to be indicted, sir ! Yes, sir, 
indicted ! ” 


118 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


( 


Eleanor !” says Jack, savagely, introduced 

that gentlemen as a friend of yours. Oblige me by con- 
ducting your friend to the front door before I try ray 
. one sound fist on him.” 

But he’s right. Jack ; right in every word. You’ve 
been behaving abominably, and now, since I know you’re 
not really hurt, I don’t care how much my doctor abuses 
you.” 

Have my own family turned against me ? ” says 
poor Jack, staring incredulously at Smy’s defiant face. 

‘‘Your own family ought to,” says Sray. “How 
have you treated our darling Madge ? the best wife a 
man ever had.” 

“ The best wife a man ever had ; yes, I grant you she 
was before she came to this accursed city. But didn’t I see 
her bending over a man’s photograph, that fellow’s that 
gave me this broken arm ? Didn’t I hear her murmur, 
‘ too dear, too dear, but I can’t help it,’ to that picture ? 
Didn’t Mrs. Bluxom tell me that she considered it to be 
her duty to tell me that my wife was continually on the 
go, and that a small boy was perpetually coming here 
with letters, which she always received with her own 
hands, while I, poor fool, was away from home spending 
every moment of my time trying to — ” 


CASTING OUT DEVILS. 


119 


Settle dog fights,” says Smy, tauntingly. 

What ? ” 

And visiting the cock-pit ! ” 

« Which?” 

‘‘And going to opera matinees with women who 
weren’t your wife nor your sister neither,” pursues my 
merciless little advocate. 

“Eleanor ! ” 

“ And going to saloons at mid-day.” 

“ Sister ! ” 

“ Didn’t Mrs. Bluxom tell us so, and was Mrs. Blux- 
om ever known to be mistaken ? She’s a woman of the 
best intentions.” 

John seemed literally struck speechless. Smy stood 
before him with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks ; Dr. 
Wagner was making my big rocking-chair creak with his 
volcanic chuckling. 

“ Give it to him. Little Dauntless,” he cried, rapping 
the arm of his chair with the trumpet he’d been hold- 
ing to his ear all this while (although it was only at 
times of studious abstraction that his deafness was ex- 
treme). 

“ Sii, may I inquire why you persist in thrusting 
yourself into matters that don’t concern you ?” shouted 


120 


NOBODY^ S BUSINESS. 


Jack. “ My sister informed me that you were totally 
deaf. Under that belief I’ve said things meant for no 
ears but hers.” 

Never mind my ears,” says the doctor ; “ they’re 
not quite as long as ' yours, but my bray’s as strong. It 
was my nephew you assaulted, sir, and I’m here in his 
name, sir.” 

Smy,” I say, stepping into the room, this has 
gone far enough. Jack, did you really hear me say ^ too 
dear, too dear,’ to Mr. Cuthbert’s picture ? ” I ask. 

I really did, madame ” (stiff as a poker). 

Well, don’t you agree with me, that eight dollars a 
dozen is an outrageous price for cabinet portraits ? But 
I canH help it, for Cassoni sets the price. And you stole 
Mr. Cuthbert’s picture from my desk, and I had to pay 
Cassoni for it, and I don’t think it was kind or gentle- 
manly.” 

“ Is everybody going crazy ? ” asks Jack, staring round 
in av dazed fashion. 

I’m here professionally to pass sentence on your 
case, sir, but I’ve heard no complaint of lunacy entered 
against the females of your family. No, sir, none,” says 
the doctor. 

‘^John,” I say, “maybe I did wrong to keep it a 


CASTING OUT DEVILS. 


121 


secret from you, but you know you’re so full of foolish 
prejudices against women doing anything, that I had to 
do it secretly or sit still with idly folded hands and see 
you ^go under.’ I’ve been coloring photographs for 
Cassoni for ever so long, and he pays me splendidly, but 
sometimes I do think some of the pictures are too dear, 
as in the case of Mr. Outhbert’s. And Smy has been 
copying for Dr. Wagner, and he pays her splendidly ; and 
as for Mrs. Bluxom, I am utterly indignant that you 
should have listened to her. I have been on the go 
(to Cassoni’s), and very frequently he has sent his little 
errand boy with envelopes full of ^cartes,’ which I’ve 
always received with my own hands. But, oh ! J ack, 
to think you could stoop to play the spy on me.” 

Yes, you,” says Smy, maliciously, with matinees 
and dog fights, and saloon visits and cock-pits weighing 
on your conscience and on our spirits, and which, per- 
mit me to remind you, are still unaccounted for.” 

Girls,” says J ack, looking beseechingly from one to 
the other of us, did you really think I was going to the 
dogs at that gait ? ” 

Mrs. Bluxom told us you were. Besides, we saw 
you at the matinee with a strange woman.” 


122 


NOBODY' 8 BUSINESS. 


Did you see her face ? ” he asked, the old gleam of 
mischief dancing hack into his eyes. 

^^No ; hut she was superbly dressed,” I answer. 

Here Jack fell to laughing, forgetful of his bandaged 
arm, until a sudden ouch ! ” reminded him and us of 
his hurt. 

Girls,” he says, possess your souls in peace. That 
superbly dressed individual is about sixty years old, as 
ugly as the devil, and cross as that gentleman’s wife.” 

“ What were you escorting her about for then ? ” 

“ I was interviewing her.” 

“ Inter — what. Jack ? ” 

Interviewing her. I found the saddles didn’t keep 
me busy all the while, so I turned reporter for the 
Times, and had to dodge about at all sorts of times and 
into all sorts of places. That lady was a celebrated liti- 
gant, and I was trying to make an ^ item ’ out of her. 
Oh ! my — and Mopsy (that was one of Jack’s pet names 
for me), all the this while we’ve been playing the goose.” 

Speak for yourself, J ohn.” 

“ Come to my arms, or arm, rather — deuce take your 
^ too dear’ man.” 

I expect he thought the deuce had taken him when 
you charged at him in your crazy fashion. But really, 


CASTING OUT DEVILS. 


123 


Eleanor, one of us ought to go back down stairs. We’re 
treating the doctor’s nephew with most unpardonable 
rudeness.” 

The doctor^s nephew ! Who is he ? Another one of 
the actors in this comedy of errors ? ” Jack asks. 

“ He’s the hero, or the victim, or the participant of 
your stupidity,” says Smy, “who rationally concluded 
that he had disabled a crazy man, and magnanimously 
besought his uncle, my dear old Dr. Wagner, sitting 
there laughing at us all in his sleeve (with a saucy nod 
to the doctor), to come and examine your empty sleeve 
and empty head. And he’s down stairs now, John, 
waiting for his uncle. And he’s very miserable and 
very splendid, and — ” 

“Will somebody oblige me,” says my husband, “'by 
inviting that young man up-stairs ? I think if I could 
induce him to tell me once more that I was either a fool 
or a lunatic, I should sleep the better for it to-night.” 

Somebody obliged him, and young “Jamie” came, 
and toox poor Jack’s left hand in both his with such a 
brotherly warmth, and said so many handsome and 
manly things, in such a handsome and manly way, that 
we all fell indove with him on the spot. Of course I do 
not include Smy in that assertion. 


124 


. NOBODY'S BUSINESS 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SACRED CROCODILES. 

Considering the inauspicious character of his intro- 
duction to our family, it was really astonishing what an 
interest Mr. Cuthbert continued to take in the case.” 

When he went away he asked for permission to come 
again, to “see- about Jack’s arm.” Of course, it was 
accorded him. 

Presently flowers and books and music and fruits be- 
gan to find their way to our house, with Mr. Cuthbert’s 
compliments.” 

Then it began to be a regular thing for Mr. Cuthbert 
to spend his evenings with us. 

The last bouquet that came was the cause of much 
confusion (in Smy’s cheeks). 

For me ? ” asked our convalescing savage, of Mr. 
Cuthbert’s messenger. 

Yes, sir ; leastways, sir, I ’sposes so.” 

‘^Well, young man, say to your master, that I’m 
overwhelmed with gratitude for the flowers, but my 


SACBBD CEOCODILES. 


125 


arm’s knitting so rapidly tkat I tkink I could venture 
on an oyster diet or a lobster salad beneficially, if it’s all 
the same to birn.” 

Mr. Cutbbert came bimself that evening, and wben 
Jack asked if bis message bad been received, lie replied, 
Yankee fashion, by asking another question, and -wanted 
to know if Jack really believed he bad been casting bis 
pearls before swine.? Of course bis fiowers bad been 
meant for the ladies, bis inquires only for bimself.” 

Somehow or other Jack’s free and easiness seemed to 
precipitate matters, for as be still retired early, and as I 
had to see to bis arm for him, I was compelled to 
leave the doctor’s nephew and my sister-in-law together 
a while. 

When I left the parlor they were talking about 
“ Kistori,” Smy sitting on the piano stool, and Mr. 
Cuthbert at the opposite end of our little drawing-room. 
When I came back they were talking about George 
Elliot, with a suspiciously small sj)ace of sofa between 
them. 

But that night my darling little sister put her arms 
around my neck, and with a great show of secresy, and 
very pink cheeks, told me what I knew very well all 
along, that — Jamie loved her.” 


126 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


Jack’s complete restoration was celebrated by a grand 
dinner, served in grand style, in Dr. Wagner’s grand old 
mansion. 

The toasts were all of the doctor’s own proposing, and 
were three in number. 

First of all he called on us to drink a bumper to 
^‘Little Dauntless — might she never be one whit less 
bright, nor honest, nor plucky than now ! ” 

The second was to the ‘trigger man and his forgiving 
wife.” 

The third to “the mad dog, the alligators, and to 
Jamie, who had all been instrumental in giving them 
(his and Mrs. Wagner) a sunbeam (Smy) to warm the 
shady downward slope of life’s steep hill.” 

Upon which Smy proposed “blessings on his frosty 
prow ! ” 

Upon which again gentle little Mrs. Wagner wiped a 
teardrop from her mild blue eye, with the softest bit of 
cambric. 

And Jack, who was determined to show what he knew 
about “John Anderson my Jo,” “hoped it might be a 
thousand years before our dear host and hostess should 
‘ sleep together at the foot 1 ’ ” 


SACRED CROCODILES. 127 

Which made me feel like proposing, “I would not 
live alway,” hut I didn’t. 

Altogether it was a delicious day, unmarred by any 
of the untoward accidents that had made my dinner a 
thing of horrors and a joke forever, or, by Mrs. Bluxom’s 
presence. 

Whether Smy continued to write for Dr. Wagner and 
I to color for Cassoni, and Jack to stitch saddles until 
the place was out of debt ; whether Smy and Mr. Cuth- 
bert got married right off or waited until we went home 
to the place of her fathers ; whether aunt Drew and 
uncle Phil, and all the rest of our kith and kin, pointed 
the finger of scorn at the return of the innocents, or be- 
dewed them with tears of welcome, and pronounced 
them three brave, plucky, independent young souls ; 
whether the sweet June roses nodded their pretty 
heads in glad welcome to me when I got back to my 
dear old garden ; whether the mocking-birds sang me 
to sleep with heavenly melodies that first happy night 
at home, is everybody’s business, and I give them a com- 
prehensive yes,” if it will fit everywhere. 

Why Smy’s husband, when he and she come out of 
the hot city in the summer months to rusticate at the 
plantation, shows such a tender regard for the alligators, 


128 


IvOBOBY'S BUSmESS. 


and defends them on all occasions (until oiir neighbors 
^believe that Eleanor Walton has married a man who 
holds the crocodile sacred, as did the ancient Egyptians) 
is nobody’s business. 


THE END. 


THE AUTHORS’ PUBLISHING CO.’S NEW BOOKS. 


THE SATCHEL SERIES. — NOTICE. 

This popular series comprises the brightest and best brief 
works of fiction by American Authors who are, for the 
most part, well known to the reading public. They are not 
trashy reprints nor dime novels. They are clean and polished 
in matter, printed in large type, bound in convenient shape, 
and offer fascinating and delightful reading alike for Railway, 
Fireside and Library. 


Lily’s Lover; or, a Trip Out of Season. 

By the author of “ Climbing the Mountains,” etc. Satchel 
Series ; square 12mo, paper covers ... 35 cents. 

A very sweet and pretty story of summer-time romantic adven- 
tures among the green hills and silvery lakes of Connecticut. 


Rosamond Howard. 

By Kate R. Lovelace. Satchel Series ; square 12mo, 

paper covers 25 cents. 

Extra edition, in fine English cloth . . . 60 “ 

A quiet, pathetic and attractive story, excellently managed and 
beautifully told, with continuous and increasing interest. 


The Voice of a Shell. 

By 0. C. Auringer, Satchel Series; square 12mo, paper 
covers ........ 50 cents. 

To all lovers of the sea, and to all who linger by its sounding 
shores, nothing can be more entrancing than the pages of this 
beautiful little volume. It is delicate, brilliant and grand. 


THE authors’ publishing CO.’S NEW BOOKS. 


Shadowed Perils: 

A Novel. By M. Avert, autlior of “ The Loyal 
Bride,” etc. English cloth, 260 pp., 12mo, . . . $100 

The story Is bold and dramatic In action, graceful in narrative, strong in characteriza- 
tion, Intense in interest, sweet and pure in tone, and is marked by keen sympathy with 
the lowly and oppressed. 


Prisons >>11110111 Walls (Satchel Series): 

A Novel. By Kelsic Etheridge. Paper, pp., 

Price, 35 cents. 

Has the curiosity-exciting tendency.— RosJon Beacon. 

The Interest grows and retains attention to the end N. 0. Picayune. 

Short, sententious, marrowy, and spiced with episodes. Has a warm southern aroma 
of orange and magnolia blossoms. — Baltimore Md.h. Prot. 

Of rare beauty and power in its vivid, life-like picturing of men and places 

Through such artistic touches of skill and strength we are wafted in thought as we fol- 
low the hero and heroine through the mazes of the old, old siOTy.— Ladies' Pearl, St. Louis. 

The Travelers’ Grab-Bag; or, theHeart of aQuiet Hour: 

(Satchel Series.) 

A Hand-hook for utilizing fragments of leisure in railroad 
trains, steamboats, way stations and easy chairs. Edited 
by An Old Traveler. . . . Paper, pp., 

, Price, 35 cents. 

Full of spice and fun.— RaKimore JHeth. Prot. 

No traveler should be without it N. Y. Forest and Stream. 

Teeming with rollicking humor and a kind of satire that will be enjoyable.— 
Commercial. 

Bonny Eagle. (Satchel Series.) 

Clear type, heavy tinted paper, 12mo, . . 25 cents. 

The curious and ludicrous experiences of a party of gentlemen who 
sought happiness in the forests of Maine ; graphicail.'' told with a naive 
humor and delicate satire; fresh and spicy. 


/ 

THE authors’ publishing CO.’S NEW BOOKS. 

Women’s Secrets; or, How to be Beautifuls 

Translated and Edited from the Persian and French, with 
additions from the best English authorities. By Lou. 
Capsadell, author of “Her Waiting Heart," “Hallow 
E’en," etc. Pp. 100, l^mo. 

Saratoga Edition^ in Scotch granite paper covers, 25 cents. 
Boudoir Edition y French grey and blue cloths, . 75 cents. 

The systems, directions and recipes for promoting Personal Beauty, as practiced for 
thousands of years by the renowned beauties of the Orient, and for securing the grace 
and ciiarm for wiiich the French Toiiette and Boudoir are distinguislied, togetlicr with 
suggestions from the best authorities, comprising History and Uses of Beauty; Tiie Best 
Standards; Beautiful Cliildren ; Beauty Food, Sleep, Exercise, Health, Emotions* How 
to be Fat ; How to be Lean ; How to be Beautiful and to remain so, etc., etc. 

Sumners’ Poems: 

By Samuel B. Sumner and Charles A. Sumner. With 
Illustrations by E. Stewart Sumner. On fine tinted 
paper, 518 pp., cloth extra. Regular 12mo edition, $2.50 
Large paper, 8vo, illustrated, full gilt, beveled edges.. .^1.00 
Sparkling, tender and ardent. — Philadelphia Book Buyer. 

Vivacity and good humor.— Db. Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

Briiliant and humorous, patriotic and historic. — American Monthly, Philo. 
Equai to anything that is at aii akin to them in “ The Excursion.” — Y. 
World. 

The Buccaneers: 

A Stirring Historical Novel. By Randolph Jones, Esq. 
Large 12mo, cloth extra, ink and gold. Paper $1. Cloth $1.75, 
Is drawn from the most daring deeds of the Buccaneers and the sharpest 
events in the early settlement of Maryland and Virginia. It is so full of 
thrilling action, so piquant in sentiment, and so thoroughly alive with the 
animation of the bold and ambitious spirits whose acts it records with ex- 
traordinary power, that the publishers confidently bespeak “ The Bucca- 
neers ” as the most strongly marked and the best of all American noveli 
Issued during the year. 

A Story of the Strike. 

Scenes in City Life. (Satchel Series.) By Elizabeth 

Murray. Square 16mo/Illustrated 30 cents. 

Vivacious tale. — V. Y. Mail. 

I3 a pretty story. — V. Y. Eve. Telegram. 

Characters are well drawn. — St. Louis Herald. 

A pleasant story. — Sunday School Times. 

Is a beautiful story. — Boston Home Journal. . 

Will amuse the family circle,— City Timet. 


NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS 

JUST ISSUED BY 

THE AUTHORS’ PUBLISHING COMPANY, 


27 Bond Street, New York. 


RELIGION AND SCIENCE. 

Analytical Processes; or, the Primary 
Principle of Philosophy. By Rev Wm. 

I. Gill, A.M ‘ $2.00 

Beauty of the Kinar. A brief Life of Chri.st. 
By Rev. A. H. Holloway, A.M., $1.0C{ 

full gilt, $1.25 

Christian Conception and Experience. By 

Rev. "Wm. I. Gill, A.M $1.00 

Ecclesiology: Fandaraental Idea and Con- 
stitution of the NeAV-Testaineut Church. 

By E. J. Eisil, D.D $2.00 

Evolution and Progress. An Exposition 
and Defence. ByRev.'WM. I. Gill, A.M. 

$1.50 

Life Among the Clergy. By Rev. Robert 

Fisher $1.25 

Life for a Look. By Rev. A. H. Hollo- 
way 15 cents. 

Resurrection of the Body. Does the Bible 
Teach it? By E. Nisbet, D.D. Intro- 
duction by G. "W. Samsox, D.D $1.00 

Universe of Language. Uniform notation 
and Classification of Vowels, adapted 
to all Languages. By the late George 
Watson, Esq.,"^of Boston. Edited by his 
daughter, E. H. Watson $1.50 


POLITICAL AND PRACTICAL. 

Is our Republic a Failure 1 A Discussion 
of the Rights ard the Wrongs of the 
North and the South. By E. H. Wat- 


son $1.50 

Manuscript Manual. How to Prepare 
Manuscripts for the Press 10 cents. 


Mercantile Prices and Profits. By M. R. 
PiLON. (In press.) 

Race for IV'ealth. Considered in a Series 
of Letters written to each other by a 
Brother and Sister. Edited bv James 
Corley 50 cents. 

What is Demonetization of Gold and Sil- 
ver? By M. R. PiLON 75 cents. 


FICTION AND /ESTHETICS. 

Buccaneers, The. Historical Novel. By 
Randolph Jones. Paper, $1; cloth, $1.75 
Buccaneers of 1690. A Sequel to “The 
Buccaneers.” (In preparation.) 

Deacon Cranky, the Old Sinner. By Geo. 

Guirey $1.50 

Earnest Appeal to Moody. A Satire. 10 cts. 
Her Waiting Heart. By Louise Capsa- 

DELL. Cloth extra $1.00 

Shadowed Perils. By Miss M. A. Avery. 

•Cloth and gold $1.00. 

Sumners’ Poems. By S. B. Sumner and 
C. A. Sumner. Hlustrated. 12mo., $2.50; 

8 vo $4.00 

Wild Flowers. Poems. By Charles W. 

Hubner. Cloth, $1; gilt tops $1.25 

Women’s Secrets ; or, How to be Beau- 
tiful. By Louise Capsadell. Paper, 
25 cents; cloth, 75 cents. 


THE SATCHEL SERIES. 

The TraveUer’s Grab-Bag 35c. 

Prisons Without Walls 35c. 

Bonny Eagle 30c. 

A Story of the Strike Cl. 75c. paper 25c. 

Lily’s Lover 35c. 

Rosamond Howard. Cloth,60c.; paper, 25c. 

Voice of a Shell 50c. 

Nobody’s Business 30c. 

Little Maid 45o. 


AUTHOR’S MANUSCRIPT PAPER. 

Manufactured by The Authors’ Pub- 
lishing Company, white paper, flat sheets, 
ruled only one side, and sold only in ream 
packages, — each package warranted to 
contain full count of 4S0 sheets. 

Manuscript Paper, 5| x 11, No. 1 $1.25 

Manuscript Paper, x 11, No. 2 1.00 

By mail 50 cents per renm, in addition 
to price, to prepay postage. Specimens 
mailed on receipt of three-cent stamp. 


Books mailed, postpaid, to any part of the United States and Canada, upon 
receipt of price by the publishers. 

New Plan of Publishing and Descriptive Catalogue mailed free. 












■ ‘ nAl 




VV 






iK 


(«l 










» Vj^ 


iliv 


-?■ 5 




*► ‘ 




^>n ''/» 




j4 




'X 


V'X 


KA 


Uk^H. - . '•'V vjT ,, ^ <nRQ^RnBK‘.(X jS 


h: 


# J 


i 


■A'.*4 


tt/ u 


■ 't; 


yL *' 


f- 










Lr’ 


[' ^ h? '•1 




I 4 


•A. 


'/rd 


-v^i " 




T. 1- 


r ^ N 


I 


'-fyv. 


.♦f 


>'^ - 






k : ^*536^4 3&i 




J-. 


^r/i - 1 ^ 


'♦ - 4 - ‘4 H 


P" 


t 9 




h,"S»»''''*''3 








s 


■•*ar. 


• • ■• 






\- V* 




’r*j. 


I'fh 


w. •• 


U?i n. 

^ ^ ^ -Ti. 

*i^ ,',. '_ ..'I* /* ^4 V >n 


fy 


e 






v.y 


-^v- ! 


ifr ^'.«4 


..t 


/ 




/!t 4^^ 




f ; "iS: 


/•if > 








• T 


f*» y 


■if'iK, 


fii 




Ki 




*>"■/.* ** * 


(•' 




S’ 


■ir; '> 


♦ *•* ^ 'S 


r«* 


}j<r ‘i 


‘a*\ 


, f 


Vw 


- ». 


>v 






L*. 














- V V ^1 r 


• %*.♦ 


1 1 


:»•> 




f i 


©4; 


'■'^'iVl^^ •- ' 4* ; '.pr/' f;.*ri iftf ♦; 

•o/^;.l.i^» ....,;. ‘A .. J «1 




LS 


TaV 


M 


ix-' 


9 ^ «• 







:■ I 


• Vi 


~ r: 4 mv^A?w* t 

i} - ajl ^iu^v! 7 i i«A#v • 


^ I 





















